


Lovers in the Dark

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bedsharing, Blowjobs, God!Cas, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Mythology!AU, Rimming, Top!Cas, Virgin!Dean, alpha!cas, angel!cas - Freeform, bottom!Dean, handjobs, john/kate milligan, john/mary - Freeform, omega!dean, past cas/daphne, virgin!cas, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Prince Dean is the most beautiful omega anyone’s laid eyes on. Flowers bloom for the chance to see him, animals climb into his room simply to be in his presence, and not a person in the kingdom can say enough for his beauty. He is universally praised for his lovely green eyes, his freckles, his plush lips and the subtly strong lines of his cheekbones. His family hopes to use that to find a good match and secure an alliance for their kingdom.The gods have other plans.Naomi, goddess of beauty, hears more and more tales of the young omega’s beauty and she hates him for it. The fact that mortals and nature alike would hold anyone’s beauty above her own is intolerable. So she sends her son Castiel, god of love, to infect Dean with an undying love for a monstrous person as punishment for his hubris.Fate has plans of its own…[A retelling of the Classical myth “Cupid and Psyche.” Castiel is cast as Cupid, Dean as Psyche, and Naomi as Venus.]





	1. The Spurned Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my entry for the [2017 Dean Cas Big Bang](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com). I've wanted to do a Destiel version of this myth for almost two years, but [destielonfire](http://destielonfire.tumblr.com) mentioned doing one a few months ago and I figured it'd be the perfect story for this challenge :) 
> 
> And no, you don't need to know the myth to be able to enjoy the story (though if you are familiar with Cupid/Psyche, I'd love to hear what you think of my rendition of it ^-^).
> 
> My lovely artist for this challenge was [locke-ripped-his-clothes-off](http://locke-ripped-his-clothes-off.tumblr.com) aka deanoh. Honestly, the art is spectacular so pls make sure to give some love for the artwork :) (If you're reading this fic right when I post it, the art *should* be in the story but I don't have a link to the art post yet.)
> 
> And lastly, one big thank you to my beta reader [blue-reveries](http://blue-reveries.tumblr.com) for helping me work through this story <3

 

 

****The Kingdom of Winchester was small but prosperous. Tucked away in the mountains, it knew no war and no strife beyond what its citizens caused amongst themselves. The people were loyal, the king just, and the land happy.

Their joy was compounded when the queen gave birth to a son. While a royal birth was always a cause for celebration, early on they knew the boy was special. The young omega was beautiful, even from a young age. Year by year he grew more stunning. Rumors traveled far and wide about the prince.

Flowers bloomed just for the chance to see him.

Animals scaled the castle walls to climb into his room, simply to be in his presence.

The clouds parted from the sky when he was out in the gardens so the sun might shine upon him.

No one who looked into his lovely green eyes, saw his skin sun-kissed with freckles, or gazed at his plush lips could help but love him.

On and on the stories went, some more farfetched than the others. Many thought the tales were surely exaggerated—how could so much beauty be possessed by one boy?—but then some new poet, bard, or artist would appear to praise his endless beauty.

Dean himself was unaware of the effect he had on those around him. His parents were meticulous in their choice of guards and servants, choosing those who would care for him but not fall prey to the bewitching spell of his beauty. They wished a normal life for their son; they didn’t want his beauty to attract the wrong sort of attention. Whether that be the ire of the gods or a covetous alpha king, they tried to protect him.

It was a delicate balance. As a young prince, he needed to be known to his people and know them in turn. He needed to meet with visiting dignitaries. It was impossible to keep him away from _everyone._ His parents were as diligent as they could be, but recognized that their son needed to _live_. Hiding behind closed doors was no way for any boy to grow up.

They did their best, and it seemed to work.

As far as Dean was concerned, he was an ordinary prince. The favors bestowed upon him by visitors seemed due to his rank and not his appearance. And if they paid more compliments to him than to his brother Sam, Dean assumed it was in deference to his age. Perhaps he was marginally attractive, if such a thing was important at all, but surely he possessed no more particular mark of beauty.

Someone would have told him, wouldn’t they?

Alas, his ignorance did nothing to shield him.

\- - - -

“Castiel.”

He nodded at his mother in greeting and came to stand before her throne. It was near blasphemy for a god other than Chuck to have a throne or crown, but Naomi had charmed him into making this one minor allowance. Castiel didn’t like to dwell on _how_ she might have done it.

“Yes, mother?”

She eyed him reproachfully until he sighed and took a knee before her.

“Yes, mother?” he repeated.

Pleased with the correction, Naomi beamed at him. They said her smile could light up a moonless sky. Who said that, he didn’t know, but he knew his mother was found of the poetic wording.

“I need your help, Castiel. There is a young man in the kingdom of Winchester who needs to be punished. A prince, in fact.”

“Punished?” he repeated with a frown. That was rarely Castiel’s job. As god of love, he was more often called upon to bring joy and rewards to worthy men and women. He knew love could be a burden, especially when unrequited or when a mortal died, but a punishment? “What did he do?”

“Hubris is his crime. He thinks himself, a mere mortal, to be more beautiful than me. As goddess of beauty, I cannot abide this. I have tried to teach him humility. I had his mother killed and yet he continued to flaunt his looks to any alpha who would look his way. I had his father killed and _still_ he learned nothing. If death will not teach him to give me my appropriate due, _love_ will have to do the trick.”

Castiel opened his mouth to ask _how_ his mother had arranged the deaths of anyone, let alone a king and queen, without getting in trouble with the other gods. Killing people was far outside of her domain. Then, as usual, he decided against questioning his mother. She had her ways. Look at her using Castiel to punish this nameless man. She could have easily done that with the murders, asking a favor from another god and promising all sorts of rewards in exchange.

“What would you have me do?”

“You are to go to Winchester and make Prince Dean fall in love with the ugliest, most horrid person you can find. A monster in the guise of a man. Someone who will care nothing for Dean’s so-called _beauty_ —” Naomi all but spat the word, her disdain written in every feature of her face. “—and regard him as lowly as he regards me. A match that will bring _ruin_ to his kingdom and scorn to him and his family for having _ever_ deigned to think they could parade this boy as anything other than the useless, pathetic creature that he is.”

Castiel winced at his mother’s tone. He understood her anger and her need for retribution (even if he didn’t agree with it), but he could hardly imagine carrying out such a request. His mother had asked terrible things of him before, and ever the obedient son, he’d carried out those orders. At first they’d been small things, seemingly innocuous, but they’d grown in magnitude and maliciousness.

This, though, was the worst.

She’d already taken this man’s parents from him and now she wanted to give him one of the worst fates imaginable. If only there were something Castiel could do to mitigate the damage.

“Who should I have him fall in love with?” he asked hesitantly. If she had someone in mind, then all was lost.

She leaned back in her throne and waved him off. “You’re a clever boy, you’ll find someone.”

Hearing the dismissal for what it was, Castiel bowed and left.

His mother’s wishes were clear, but with the power to choose for himself, Castiel would do his best to spare Dean the worst of it. He’d find someone bad, just not as bad as his mother would have wanted. Yes, Castiel would inflict a terrible life on this poor young man, but in the hope of sparing him a worse fate.

With that in mind, he spread his wings and took flight for Winchester.

\- - - -

“Dean,” Kate begged. “You have to pick _someone_.”

“Why?” Dean insisted stubbornly. He was pouting, and he knew it, but he hated this whole topic. For years his stepmother had begged him to find a mate, and Dean had put it off as long as possible. He knew his obligations as a prince, but it didn’t mean he _liked_ them.

“You know why,” she said gently. A servant dropped off a tray of tea, bowed, and then disappeared. “I can’t serve as Regent forever. You’re of age, Dean. You’ve _been_ of age for some time now, yet you keep putting off taking the throne. The people will want you to take the throne eventually. And an omega ruling by himself…”

“You do it just fine,” Dean pointed out. “You’ve been doing a great job since Dad died. Who’s to say I can’t do it alone?”

“You know it’s not— _Dean_ .” Kate’s temper flared briefly before she quelled it. “This isn’t me doubting your ability to lead. You will make an amazing king. This is me being realistic. I’ve had a peaceful reign because I care for three young princes. I am a _temporary_ ruler. That is why it’s allowed, that’s why there are no kingdoms breathing down our backs to intimidate us, and that’s why there’s no unrest. If I were a beta or an alpha, it would make no difference. I’m a placeholder for _you_.”

Dean leaned back in his chair and scowled. “It’s not just that and you know it. And you’re right, it wouldn’t matter if you were an alpha or a beta or that you’re an omega. They respect _you_ . They’ll respect _me_ , too, even if I’m ‘just an omega.’”

“And if it were a matter of _your people_ , I wouldn’t be pressing the issue.” Kate sighed and sipped at her tea while she collected her thoughts. Dean saw it for what it was—an attempt to regain control of the conversation—and allowed it anyway. Finally, she delicately put the cup back down. “Dean, you’ve read your history. You _know_ what happens when there’s a lone omega ruler. Winchester will love you no matter what, but other kingdoms will see it as weakness and come for you.”

He wanted to protest, but she was right. It might be sexist and ridiculous, but society looked down on omegas as weak and in need of an alpha or beta to protect and guide them. There were few examples of omegas ruling on their own to a happy end. It almost always ended in war or marriage or assassination. Given his options, marriage didn’t sound that bad.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dean gave in. “I’ll meet with suitors. But I refuse to marry one I don’t like.”

“That’s more than fair. I would never expect you to give up your happiness. And realistically, you shouldn’t have to. You could have anyone you wanted.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean? Winchester is too small a kingdom to attract that type of attention. We have no vast wealth to compensate for our size. I should imagine it’ll be difficult to attract the attention of more powerful alpha rulers.”

Kate bit her lip and reflected a moment before answering. “You’re a good catch,” she said vaguely, not meeting his eye. “An omega prince as smart and kind as you will have numerous offers, I’m sure.”

Though Dean wished to press his stepmother for a more satisfactory answer than that, they were interrupted by his brothers rushing out into the gardens. Adam, only twelve, was first; he ran so fast that the kite he dragged with him almost took to the air. Sadly as soon as he stopped by their table, it sank to the ground and he whined in disappointment. Sam trailed behind and helped his little brother collect the fallen kite.

It was a touching sight and made Dean smile. He loved his brothers dearly, though very differently. Sam and he were so close in age, barely three years apart, that they’d become friends more than anything else. Adam, however, was nearly a decade younger than Dean. He was well and truly the little brother, spoiled by the whole castle. Dean included.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Sam said. He teasingly held the kite up so that Adam had to jump to try and snatch it back. After his third attempt failed, Sam handed it over. “The suitors have arrived and are waiting in the throne room to meet you both.”

Dean shot Kate an annoyed look. “You invited suitors and didn’t tell me?”

“I assumed you’d see reason,” she said with a shrug. “They’re all men and women of noble birth, more than worthy of you by name, deed, or wealth. I don’t expect anything to come of this, but I am asking you to keep an open mind.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean fought off the impending headache that came with the prospect of listening to over eager suitors all night. He’d dealt with this type of attention before, and he didn’t care for it. Instead of trying to get to know him and talk about Dean’s interests, they all focused on flattering him. They’d go on and on about his eyes or his lips or his hair, all claiming that he was the most beautiful being they’d ever had the pleasure to behold.

It disgusted him.

That they didn’t even bother to tell the truth in their compliments irked him. He didn’t care for generic words of praise that focused on his looks. He was a skilled horseman, an avid reader, a decent singer, and so many other things besides the “pretty face” they seemed to see. It was so superficial of them to focus on his appearance—particularly when he wasn’t the splendid work of art some of them professed him to be—and reflected poorly on what they thought _he_ found important.  

The moment a suitor commented on his appearance, Dean’s interest in them immediately disappeared.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dean huffed as he pushed up from his chair. “See if any of them are even worth having a conversation with.”

“I see you’re really taking my encouragement of being open-minded to heart.” Kate stood as well. “But I agree. The sooner we greet them and weed out the ones we don’t like, the better.”

Kate lead the way back to the palace, Adam running in circles around her as he went on and on about his lessons for the day. Sam and Dean fell behind, letting their stepmother and stepbrother wander ahead while they whispered conspiratorially.

“You know about this suitor stuff?” Dean said in a low tone.

“No… but I’m not surprised. I talked to a few of them already. Kate’s right, they’re all good prospects on paper—”

“And all your typical, stuck-up alpha royalty in person?”

Sam nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, _I’m_ alpha royalty. Unfortunately, you’re not wrong about the visitors here. They’re friendly enough with me, but I see the way they eye Adam and the way they treat the servants. Most of them are assholes.”

“Great,” Dean said with false cheer. “I get to spend the evening not only enduring their ridiculous attempts at courtship but also pretending I don’t _mind_ those ridiculous attempts at courtship.”

“I’ll do my best to help. Play the protective alpha brother.”

“Don’t bother. It just encourages the ones who shouldn’t be encouraged.” Dean knew that much from experience. The times his father had stepped in to spare Dean the discomfort of dealing with a persistent alpha suitor, it had only resulted in snarling alphas trying to display dominance over the other.

Taking a deep breath before crossing the threshold into the throne room, Dean tried to center himself. With a fixed smile in place, he entered the large chamber. It was going to be a long evening.

\- - - -

Naomi was temperamental. Castiel loved his mother, but there was no denying that fact. She was easily offended and held grudges more than any of the other gods. When she’d given Castiel his missive to punish Dean, he suspected she was blowing some minor offense out of proportion. Still an offense, but not worthy of how it had escalated to this point.

The truth was far worse.

He’d come to the palace at Winchester to observe Dean to find out what kind of man he was. If he was to make Dean fall in love with someone he would otherwise hate, Castiel had to _know_ Dean at least a little. For nigh on a fortnight, he’d watched the eldest prince go about his lessons, play with his brothers, listen to his people when they sought audience with him and his stepmother… All of it showed a young man who would be a just and compassionate king some day. No matter how hard he tried to find fault with the boy’s behavior, Castiel found none.

As far as he could tell, Dean had committed no wrong. He was kind and considerate, thoughtful to those around him, and never boasted of the splendid beauty held in every feature. The only crime Dean seemed to be guilty of was being born exceptionally handsome, and most surprisingly, he didn’t even seem to be aware of it.

That point had been made even more clear as Dean mingled with his guests. Any time they mentioned his beauty, he looked uncomfortable and dismissed the comment as though it were completely untrue.

It was unfortunate. Dean’s innocence didn’t change Castiel’s mission here. There was no point in talking to his mother, either. She was immoveable once her mind was made and would see everything Dean did or said a personal affront to her own beauty. Even if Dean were to throw himself before her and beg for forgiveness, it would do him no good.

At best she would give him a swift, painless death.

Dean would never be so lucky.

With a heavy heart, Castiel watched the suitors. His plan to find the least terrible seemed doomed to fail. They were all _terrible_ matches for Dean. Abaddon, Ruby, Roman, Bartholomew, and Alastair… they each wanted him as a trophy. They would lock him away, keep him selfishly to themselves.

The only one of them even remotely considerate of Dean was Prince Victor. He quickly saw Dean’s annoyance and adjusted, trying to find common ground for conversation instead of showering him with endless praise. Dean obviously appreciated his endeavors and favored him more than the other suitors. Castiel very much doubted anything would come of it if events were left to unfold on their own, but sadly that wasn’t to be the case.

If Castiel dared push his mother’s instructions to their farthest limit, he could make Dean fall in love with Victor. Victor was the youngest son of a king, doomed to inherit nothing but what he could get through marriage. That would appeal to Naomi’s vanity, knowing that Dean’s would be so limited. Castiel doubted it would be enough to justify the decision.

If he followed her instructions to the letter, Alastair was the obvious choice. Alastair was a monster through and through, in every meaning of the word. Castiel had seen enough of the world to know the dark look in his eyes. He would tear Dean apart bit by bit, then put him back together however he saw fit. Dean’s life would be hell, and he’d be powerless to do anything about it.

All night, Castiel wavered in his decision. Obey his mother or save the innocent? As he slipped into Dean’s room that night under cover of darkness, he still did not know which course he would take.

Castiel raised his bow, taking aim at the sleeping youth. Dean lay in his bed, the moon casting him in pale blue light. He was indeed beautiful. Castiel had seen no one, god or mortal, come anywhere close to Dean’s radiance.

Later the stories would claim that the God of Love pricked himself by mistake on his own arrows, that it was his own magic that made him fall in love at the sight of the young prince. In truth, Castiel could never be so clumsy. It was all Dean, his gentle nature and his stunning eyes and the way he smiled when he was with his brothers. Castiel was bewitched by no other magic than Dean’s beautiful soul.

With a sigh, Castiel lowered his bow.

He wouldn’t hurt Dean. If that meant facing his mother’s wrath, so be it.

Quieter than any mortal could manage, Castiel moved to Dean’s bedside. An unfamiliar feeling stirred in his breast as he looked at the prince. No, that was a lie; he’d inspired that same feeling in too many others not to recognize it, but it was one he’d never felt for himself. Not like this.

He brushed a few errant strands of hair from Dean’s forehead. Dean stirred in his sleep, leaning into Castiel’s heat, but he didn’t wake. Not wanting to push his luck any further, Castiel went back to the open window and took flight.

Merely not acting would not be enough to save Dean from his mother. There was much work to be done...


	2. The Oracle

****“Don’t give me any more bad news!” Kate shouted at the messenger who strode into the private council chambers. “We have enough to deal with already.”

“I’m sorry, m’lady.” He held out a scroll for her and immediately fled once she’d accepted it.

“What now?” Dean asked. His stepmother handed the scroll over to him and he skimmed it, fearing the worst.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The drought that had started weeks ago in their southern cities had lead to a famine; the farmers were experiencing record low harvests and were fearful of what would happen come winter. Over the last few months, such reports were steadily increasing. Mishap after mishap plagued the kingdom of Winchester. Any single incident would be considered unlucky, but the sheer number of occurrences made the superstitious think the gods had turned against them.

Long standing allies no longer offered their support, worried that the gods’ anger would turn on them next. They were alone in their troubles, and the people grew fearful. If they weren’t able to find some good news for the people soon...

“There’s enough in the treasury to purchase grain to offset what the farmers can’t produce,” Kate said. There were bags under her eyes and new crows feet at the corners; each new wrinkle spoke to how tired she was from having to handle the never ending crises they faced daily. “But we’ll have to do it at the expense of not repairing that town that was destroyed by an earthquake.”

“So we get more gold.” Dean hesitated, then forced himself to say the plan he’d been thinking of more and more lately. “I could… I could marry someone.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Dean, but you don’t have to do that—”

“Yes I do. It’s my kingdom. They’re _my_ people. If I can help them by marrying someone with the means to support us while we deal with these crises, then it’s my duty to do it.”

Kate begrudgingly conceded the point. “I don’t like it. I promised your father a great many things, and this seems to go against it. It’s one thing to look for a marriage with nothing forcing your hand, but this…” She shook her head. “I won’t talk you out of it. You’re as stubborn as your father and I won’t waste our time trying.”

“I appreciate that. What are my options?”

“Well, that’s the trouble.” Kate hesitated, picking through the parchments until she found the one she wanted. “There were so many offers for your hand. Seemed like new ones were coming in each week. Except now… most of them have been withdrawn. The only suitor who _hasn’t_ withdrawn his offer is Alastair—”

“ _No_ ,” Dean said firmly, voice full of disdain. “I don’t care how desperate we are, I am _not marrying Alastair!_ ”

“You asked, and I told you. I’ll keep sending envoys and try to find you a mate. Until then, I’ll see what we can do about selling some of your mother’s old jewelry. I don’t like doing it—I’d really hoped to save it should you or Sam have daughters to pass it on to—but we’re desperate.”

“That’s a temporary solution,” Dean said. His anger flared but he quashed it. He had no right to be upset at Kate for suggesting it. “Just like the marriage. Obviously we’ll have to do it, but we can’t keep trying to solve problems after they come up. We need to get to the root of it and stop the cause.”

There was silence as they stared each other down. Dean didn’t back down, though, and it was Kate who looked away first.

“Dean…” Kate sighed. “There’s nothing supernatural at work here.”

“Yes, there is. Look at everything we’ve had to deal with lately.” He gestured to the mess before them on the table. Countless problems, more each day. The only connection was that they were all within Winchester. “I know I don’t have proof, but I have the feeling there’s something at work here beyond what we can see.”

Rubbing at her temples, Dean fully expected Kate to dismiss his concerns like she usually did. He didn’t often voice them. He knew they sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t ignore his hunch.

To his surprise, Kate nodded in acceptance. “You might be right. John always thought there was something strange about how your mother died. Said the fire made no sense, burned like nothing he’d ever seen. And I’ll admit, I’ve always harbored my own suspicions about your father’s death. He wasn’t _that_ sick. The healers said he’d survive…” She shook her head to dispel the unpleasant memories. “If you’d like to pursue this, I won’t stop you.”

“How?”

“You never expected me to agree with you, did you?” She chuckled, not unkindly, then stood up. A large map was on the wall, and she beckoned Dean over. “You could ask an oracle. If there’s something unnatural at work, the oracles will know and be able to tell you. If there’s a way to stop it, they’ll hopefully know that too.”

Her fingers traced along the roads leading out of Winchester.

“The Oracle of the Fates is the closest.” She tapped a point on the map that would only a few day’s ride away. “There are others. Here and… here.” One was deep in the woods at the center of the continent, the other was on an island. Both would be far more difficult to get to. “But any of them should do. You should be able to find answers from any of them. If the Fates don’t answer you, you could try elsewhere.”

“Alright. I’ll set off in the morning.”

It felt good to have a plan. Inaction had never suited Dean. Even if this trip led to nothing, he could at least say he tried.

“Take your brother with you. I’ll hear no end of it if he’s not there to help. And Bobby. I’ll not get a second’s peace from him if he knows his princes are traveling without him there to protect them.”

Dean smiled fondly. Bobby had been a fixture at the palace since well before Dean could remember. He was too old to serve as a proper guard, but he trained new recruits and offered his expertise to the council whenever it was necessary. Luckily, it rarely was; Winchester had few soldiers, which didn’t matter so long as they were never called upon to battle.

If the gods were willing, that would hopefully remain true.

“As long as they’re ready to leave in the morning, of course they can come along.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll handle the preparations, you pack.”

\- - - -

The journey there had been both quick and exhausting. The path made travel easy, but it had required them to go through a good portion of Winchester and see firsthand the devastation their kingdom and people faced. Sam had been reticent about this whole plan and had only grown more sullen as they traveled.

Dean, on the other hand, grew more hopeful with every mile traveled. This would work, Dean knew it in his gut. He would help his people.

The home of the oracle was at the base of a hill. A small village had sprung up around it to satisfy the priests and priestesses as well as the travelers who sought the oracle’s truth. Their party stopped at the inn. It was one of the few business in the town and at the moment they appeared to be the only guests. While Bobby was left to find them rooms for the night, the brothers were off for the temple.

The temple was small, four columns up front and only two steps taking them up to the main room. The large doorway opened the room to the air beyond. The only enclosed part of the temple was a doorway off to one side, no doubt leading to a room filled with tribute and offerings to the gods. A large, marble statue stood in the middle of the room: three figures draped in cloaks spinning the threads of fate. Though their faces were obscured, light shone where their eyes should be. Such a thing shouldn’t be possible from stone, and Dean could feel the presence of the gods here.

It was unsettling.

The statues of the gods back home did no such thing. There were stories, of course, that it could happen if a god had turned their gaze to that temple. Dean had never seen it himself, nor had anyone he’d spoken with. He had _thought_ , once as a young boy, that the statue of Naomi had lit up briefly when he entered the temple, but he’d long since convinced himself it’d been a trick of the light.

It hadn’t stopped him from avoiding that end of the temple and being particularly careful to include Naomi in his prayers. She was watching him, after all.

The light from the Fates’ eyes never wavered or dulled, never looked any direction in particular, but still Dean was keenly aware that they were being watched. He tried to tell himself it was a good sign, that they would be more likely to hear his pleas.

A priestess came forward to take their sandals and traveling cloaks, while a priest stepped forward to wash their feet and hands. They both smelled clean and scentless; the only scents Dean could pick up were the soaps they used, the fabric clinging to their backs, and the fruit they’d had for breakfast.

In the rare case that someone never presented in their adolescence, they were usually cast out of society. It was unnerving to those used to smelling the muted scents of those around them, and unfortunately it resulted in the mistreatment of those who didn’t fit into the norm. The gods and their temples took in these refugees and gave them work caring for the altars.

A third priest stepped forward, bowing respectfully. “My lords, what is it you wish from us, humble servants of the god?”

“We’re here to see the oracle.”

“Of course.” The man turned on his heel and moved to the farthest corner of the temple. Columns obscured it from view from the entrance, but now it was clearly visible: a rocky chasm leading down. The smooth, polished marble of the temple had been built around this opening, a cave leading right into the hill itself.

As they got closer, Dean saw the drop wasn’t as steep as he’d believed; it started as a ten foot gap but narrowed after a ten foot drop, where it evened out and disappeared into the rest of the cave. Steps had been carved into the rock, and Dean stepped forward to start the descent. Sam moved to follow, but the priest held him back.

“Only those seeking answers may go, and only one.” The priest turned to Dean and motioned for him to continue. “You may go. Do as the seer bids you. Pamela will tell you all you need to know, even that you do not wish to hear. Be ready and be vigilant. She is but a vessel for the gods. They speak through her, but if you anger them, her mortal flesh may be unable to contain them.”

“How long will this take?” Dean asked, suddenly feeling uneasy. He’d assumed Sam would be with him. Prophecies and oracles were notoriously difficult to understand, and Dean wanted his brother’s input. Faced with doing this alone, he couldn’t help but try to delay. “Would it be better for you to let her know and have her prepare? We could return in a few hours—”

“She’ll be expecting you. She’s _been_ expecting you, long before you made the decision to come. Do not keep her waiting now.”

“… Right.”

He shared a look with Sam, who seemed equally unhappy about the unplanned change. The brothers shrugged. The rules didn’t change what they’d come here for. If Dean had to do it alone, so be it.

The darkness swallowed him before he’d even lost sight of the temple. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. The cave was larger than he’d expected, though by no means big. The oracle obviously lived here, as evidenced by the pots and pans and the chest lining the walls. There was nothing out of the ordinary here, and Dean’s heart sank as doubt overtook him.

Movement drew his eye to the darkest part of the cave. A woman with long brown hair was fiddling with chains on the wall. There was evidence of claw marks and blood, and Dean’s heart hammered in his chest.

 _Ignore it. They don’t do human sacrifice here. They don’t do it_ **_anywhere_ ** _save in the lands that worship Lucifer. You’re safe._

_… If I’m so safe, why are there chains?_

As he stepped closer, the comforting scent of sandalwood washed over him. Unlike the other attendants at the temple, the oracle had clearly presented. At first Dean thought she was an omega, but then he breathed in again and thought she must be an alpha. Another few steps and he could swear she was actually a beta. His mind and his nose scrambled to make sense of the conflicting smells.

The only explanation he could come up with was that it had to do with the triple nature of the Fates. Past, present, future. Girl, woman, and crone. Alpha, omega, beta. If Pamela truly channeled them, it would make sense.

The woman clicked her teeth together and Dean jumped in surprise.

“Don’t dawdle,” she said.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“When the god comes, don’t be rude. They’re easily offended and it sounds like you’ve got enough of that already.” Pamela put her left wrist in a shackle and locked it. “You’ll know when they’re here, and you’ll know when they’re gone. Whatever happens, don’t let them touch you.” Next she locked her right wrist and threw the key out of reach. “They cannot lie, but they like to play with the truth. Be clear in your question, have your offering ready, and _do not_ forget what they say.”

“What do I—”

“Shhh.” She reached toward a bowl and sprinkled some sort of powder of it. The mixture smoked and she pulled in big lungfuls of it. “They are coming. Tell them what you seek. And don’t worry. I will hold them.”

“I wish to know how to help my kingdom. We’re plagued with famine, drought, and disasters. It feels like we’ve been cursed. If there is a curse, how can we end it? If we’ve angered a god, how might we appease them? If it is but bad luck, when will it end?”

Pamela slumped forward. Only the chains held her upright and Dean worried as the bowl dropped from her hand with a crash. Was this normal? Surely something had gone wrong—

With a snarl, Pamela sprung to her feet and lunged at him. The oracle reached for him wildly, white eyes staring deep into his soul. The shackles on the wall rattled as she strained against them. Despite her assurances that the chains would hold, Dean took a step back.

“ ** _I see your future, boy_** ,” she taunted. Pamela was gone, no longer present in her own body, and in her place were the voices of the fates. The three voices spoke in unison, using the seer as a vessel for their otherworldly knowledge.

It was terrifying.

“Yeah?” he asked, hoping his fear didn’t show. “And what might that be.”

_**“Come closer… I want to look at your pretty face, see it weep when I tell you your fate…”** _

Remembering Pamela’s warning, Dean took a step back. “No.”

She sneered at him, still fighting against the chains, but didn’t ask again. _**“An offering is required… I reveal nothing without the proper dues.”**_

Dean reached into his tunic and pulled out a locket worn by his mother. It was virtually worthless; it was gold-plated copper, a trinket given to his mother by a family in thanks for helping them, but his mother had loved it dearly. _He_ loved it dearly and had worn the token of his mother often since her passing.

The gods demanded sacrifice. If he gave something valuable that he didn’t care for, they would know. It didn’t have to be valuable so long as it was valuable to _him_.

Reluctantly, he stepped forward as far as he dared, and laid the necklace on the ground. Pamela smiled a toothy grin and the necklace vanished in a burst of light. Kneeling on the ground she raised her hands above her head and started the prophecy.

Her voice boomed as it shook the very foundations of the cave as the unearthly presence filled the small space. Pieces of rock chipped off and fell at his feet. Dean briefly worried about a cave in, but ignored the fear; oracles had been here long before Pamela and the shrines and adornments still stood as strong as they ever had. The same gods who caused the earth to quake now would be the same ones to keep this place whole.

_**“The land is besieged by the Heavens, an angry god at work.** _

_**The prince, heir to the throne, will never become king.** _

_**He is destined to be the mate of no mortal lover.** _

_**His future husband awaits him on the top of Mount Pontiac.** _

_**He is a monster, a creature beyond control who conquers gods and men alike.** _

_**Only once the prince has left his childhood home behind will the curse be lifted.”** _

Dean frantically repeated every word over and over lest he forget a possible clue. His mumbling echoed more loudly as the minutes passed. The gods watched him through Pamela’s eyes, smiling wickedly at him. Then with a shriek, Pamela collapsed to the ground. Her body convulsed and Dean, still mindful of her warnings, waited to see if this was some trick. Only once Pamela had stopped moving did Dean feel it was safe to approach.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he unlocked the bindings. Hazel eyes looked up at him, and he knew that the two of them were truly alone once more.

“I’ll be alright… Having a god inside you, it’s exhausting.”

Dean carefully helped Pamela to the pallet on the far edge of the cave. There was wine and fruit there, and he made sure to offer her both. She declined the fruit and drank liberally from the wineskin.

“Thank you for your help.” He slipped a pouch of gold into her hands. He’d already paid the gods, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything still owed.

She nodded and tossed the pouch aside. “Did you get the answer you were looking for?”

“I got an answer. Can’t say it’s one I like, but it’ll help me help my people.”

Once he was sure Pamela was settled, Dean left the cave. He would’ve stayed longer, but she assured him that all she needed now was rest. After the harsh light of a fire and but a few candles, the sunlight blinded him. Blinking to try and clear the spots dancing in front of his eyes, he didn’t notice Sam approaching until he was right in front of him.

“What did she say? Did she tell you what to do and how to fix things?”

“Something like that.” He didn’t want to talk here. The temple was the gods’ home, and one of them had caused this mess. It already felt like they were ever present, listening in on their conversation, and the idea of them overhearing what he planned made Dean’s skin crawl. Motioning for Sam to follow, they left the temple behind them and sought their horses.

Only once they were safely out of earshot did Dean brooch the topic again. He told his brother everything. The more he spoke, the more Sam’s face fell. Sam made him repeat the prophecy a dozen times, insistent that they were missing some clue.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. “Prophecies are often worded to be misleading. They’re only ever as black and white as you _think_ they are—”

“I told you _everything_ the seer said to me. Does it _sound_ unclear?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not letting you give yourself over to some monster just to save us.”

“What’s one life in comparison to a whole kingdom? Besides, it’s my _duty_ . I’m their prince. I’m supposed to look out for them. Don’t even try to pretend you wouldn’t be volunteering for this if the oracle had said it was _your_ destiny and not mine.”

Unable to counter the point, Sam growled in frustration. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that you’ll go to this mountain and… and _marry_ some monster, are you?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous!” Dean scoffed. “I’m going to go to this mountain and kill the bastard.”


	3. The Mysterious Husband

****_ Don’t look back don’t look back don’t look back… _

Dean chanted the mantra until he no longer felt the urge around and take a last glimpse of his family. He’d said his goodbyes that morning before setting off on his own. He’d hugged his stepmother, his brothers, and Bobby one last time. Told Bobby and Sam to take care of Kate and Adam, to do right by the kingdom and keep Winchester safe, and to not worry about him. 

They could only promise the first two.

When Sam and Dean had returned home after the trip to the oracle, Kate had wept at the news. She didn’t beg him to reconsider, knowing all too well his sense of duty would make him stubbornly persist.

“I would not ask this of you,” she’d whispered as she embraced him one last time. “You’re a good boy, a good a son as I could’ve ever asked for. You don’t deserve the hand fate’s dealt you.”

Now he stood at the foot of Mount Pontiac completely alone. But a mile back were his family and the escort of guards who’d accompanied them. Dean had insisted he go the rest of the way alone. Whatever the monster at the top of the mountain had planned for him, it was his task to face it, not theirs. 

The mountain’s peak stretched up before him. It vanished above the clouds, but Dean had seen it all along their approach. The mountain went up and up to perilous heights, and Dean wondered how he was ever supposed to climb it. A path, overgrown and neglected, was clearly visible, but it twisted and turned and eventually disappeared from view.

He stayed there longer than he should have, indecisive. His palms were sweaty and his legs didn’t want to cooperate. Everything in him urged him to turn the fuck around, go back home, and pretend he’d never gone to that damn oracle in the first place. It was one thing to play at being hero when he was safely at home. Now that the very real prospect of facing a monster was almost here, Dean wondered if his plan was as well thought out as it seemed. 

Based on the prophecy, Dean was convinced the creature on the mountain had caused all his kingdom’s woes. It was luring him up there with the promise of ending the curse, and Dean was happy to go along with that. It did  _ not _ mean Dean planned on staying there as the monster’s willing mate. 

Instead, he was going to kill the bastard and permanently end this mess once and for all.

Dean was traveling light. If he had to climb a mountain, he couldn’t afford to carry much. The sack he’d prepared was filled with some bread and fruit, a wineskin, and a few keepsakes to remind him of home. And most importantly, wrapped in the blanket his mother had knit for him as a pup, was a demon blade. 

Generations ago, the lands of Winchester had been plagued with monsters and demons. Only the brave, strong, and clever lived there. His great great grandfather had been a scholar, a student of the gods who was learned in the ways of monster killing. He’d been gifted a blade, carved in the language of the gods, that would kill even the most treacherous of creatures. His great great grandfather had rid Winchester of its demonic plague and settled it as the kingdom it was now; the blade had been passed down from king to king and was Dean’s birth right. 

He doubted his grandpa Henry had this in mind when he’d sat four year old Dean on his knee and told him the adventures his own grandfather had lived through. It was supposed to be an ornament, a reminder to Winchester’s royal family and its people where the kingdom had started. Now it seemed that history was repeating itself.

As he set off on the path up the mountain, Dean couldn’t help but checking the bag constantly. His nerves would flare with the sudden surety that he was being watched and only feeling the blade through the leather of the bag would calm him. An hour passed like that; Dean following the path as it curved this way and turned up the mountain and occasionally feeling a chill run down his spine. He welcomed it, though, knowing it would keep him alert if the monster attacked before he reached the top of the mountain.

In the week between his return from the oracle and his departure for Mount Pontiac, Dean had made Bobby teach him how to use the blade. He had little weapons training—as a prince, he’d always had a bodyguard nearby—and  _ needed _ to be able to defend himself. It also helped Bobby feel more comfortable about this whole arrangement, especially as Dean got better at wielding the short blade. 

“Ya might actually pull this off,” Bobby had told him with a pat on the back. 

Dean went over the moves Bobby had showed him in his head, wondering what type of monster he’d be facing. Was it a man-headed hydra? A harpie? Maybe a sphinx? He thought out a plan of attack for every creature he could think of, listing its weaknesses and how he’d best be able to exploit those while using his own strengths. He rounded a corner, battling a manticore in his mind, when he saw that the path abruptly ended but a few feet in front of him. 

A rock slide had closed off the pass, burying everything in rubble. 

“Fuck,” he hissed as he examined it from all angles. Any place he tried to place his feet, loose rocks slid out and caused the top of the pile to teeter dangerously. No matter how stable it looked, Dean dared not climb it. There’d been no offshoots of the path, nothing that looked remotely passable, and now he was stuck barely a quarter of the way up. Maybe not even that; it was hard to tell since the narrow passage had weaved back and forth so much.

“What the hell good is a prophecy you can't follow?” Dean grumbled.

It seemed unreasonably fair that he'd get this far and have to turn back to regroup and find another way up.

He lingered, hoping against hope that he'd spot a way over that wasn't too dangerous. No such luck. With a final sigh, Dean resigned himself to giving up for the moment.

As he turned around, a huge gust of wind held him in place. Try as he might, it was a solid wall that wouldn’t let Dean move. Even when he tried to turn back to the wall of rubble, it kept him pinned. 

“What the—? Holy  _ shit! _ ” 

The wind swirled around him and then swept him off his feet. Dean scrambled to try and get back on the ground, his toes brushing against the dust futily until he could no longer reach it. A stronger gust came and invisible arms griped him tight and carried him over the blocked path. He had the faint hope that it would put him back down on the other side, but instead the wind’s grip tightened and raised him higher and higher.

“Wh-what the hell is going on?” 

Dean struggled helplessly against the wind—how do you fight the wind, anyway?—but it steadily brought him towards the summit. When he hit the first layer of clouds, Dean squeaked and closed his eyes. He was clearly in the hands of some mystic power and was willing to give in until it let him go, but that didn’t mean he wanted to  _ see _ himself flying unsupported through the air. 

Gently, the wind set him down. The sudden switch from weightlessness to solid ground had Dean stumbling and he reached out blindly before realizing he still had his eyes shut. He took a steadying breath before peeking out of one eye and then the other. The sight before him took his breath away.

He’d been set down in a valley near the top of the mountain. The peak still stretched well above him, reaching towards the sun, and the valley was surrounded on three sides by rocky crags. The air was both thinner and cooler than Dean was used to but not unbearably so; the only scent he could pick up was that of flowers. It was nature unblemished by civilization.

Except for the massive villa sprawled out from one edge of the valley to the other. 

The villa looked almost like it was carved from the mountain itself, a natural extension of the lush vegetation and greenery. The stone was polished and shone in the sunlight, reflecting the clouds as they passed overhead. It was stunning to see such craftsmanship in a place so remote, so otherwise devoid of refinement . Instantly, Dean knew he was in a place created by something far from human.

Once again he was on guard.

Abandoning all pretense, he grabbed the enchanted blade. Dean let the bag fall to the ground and slowly stalked toward the house. 

It was beautiful, there was no denying that, and if circumstances were different, he’d take the time to appreciate the artistry evident in every carefully carved archway and perfectly placed lily and rose. As it was, though, all Dean could think about was what type of creature lurked inside. 

He explored the long hallways and the rooms—all lavishly furnished with tapestries and hand-carved tables and chairs. The intricate designs on the chairs alone would put all the carpenters in Winchester to shame. But aside from the decorative pieces, the villa was otherwise completely empty. There was no sign that anyone had been there, yet there was no dust or musty smell to indicate neglect either. 

Well, there was  _ a _ scent, but Dean couldn’t pin it down. It was muted and lacing almost every room of the villa. It almost smelled like… well, Dean had no idea what it smelled like, but it was vaguely familiar. His instincts bristled in alarm whenever he got a noseful, everything inside him whispering  _ danger!, _ until a breeze replaced it with the scent of wildflowers or fruit from the orchard outside.

Twice Dean walked the length of the villa and didn’t find anything alive except the occasional bird resting on a windowsill. 

_ Why would birds come if there were truly a monster here? _

_ It must mean the creature’s not here right now. I haven’t seen it, and the birds are unalarmed. Fuck. _

It would explain the faded scent and empty rooms. Acknowledging that he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of this mess just yet, Dean slipped the blade into his belt and decided to try and find a way back down the mountain. 

The main entrance had nothing but grass and a few daisies leading up to one side of the mountain. There was no path leading down, and whatever wind had carried him up here in the first place had died down to nothing. 

“Great,” Dean muttered. “Fucking convenient, good for nothing wind.” 

With a few more choice words, Dean grabbed his bag and went back inside to keep exploring. 

He wandered the gardens, catching sight of more animals as they darted around the trees. Admittedly, the gardens were spectacular. The porticos and lattices supported vines lush with flowers in every color imaginable. The orchards had pears, apples, oranges, pomegranates, and a half dozen other fruits, all of them blooming as though ignorant of the late season and growing chill in the air. 

If ever there were gardens made to enchant its guests, these were certainly them. 

The sight and smell of fresh flowers, the sound of birds singing, the feel of soft petals against his skin, the taste of ripe fruit… it was an assault to his senses, and Dean begrudgingly admitted that he liked the gardens. If only the circumstances of his stay here were different, Dean might even find himself wanting to stay.

He continued to explore the grounds, hoping to find something,  _ anything _ that might tell him who owned and maintained it, but he found nothing. He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he knew, the sun had dipped below the mountain and dusk settled. A growing sense of foreboding had Dean seeking shelter inside. All the bedtime stories his parents had ever told him warned that monsters liked to come out at night. 

Part of him, the remainder of that child who’d listened to those stories and occasionally found himself crawling into his parents’ bed for comfort, wanted to hide. Surely even on the mountain top there was  _ somewhere _ the monster wouldn’t be able to find him. Somewhere that would keep him safe until morning, when he could again try to find a path off the mountain or perhaps pray that the winds would come back and carry him away from this place.

“You came here to kill the damn thing,” he reminded himself. “How can you kill it if you’re cowering like a child? Wait for it to come to you, kill it, and end the damn curse. You can find a way home afterward.”

He mustered what courage he could and made his way to the bedroom overlooking the gardens. He’d seen it earlier and noted it was the only bedroom in the whole villa, despite its size. The oracle had warned him that the creature here was meant to be his husband, and the lone bed seemed confirmation of the beast’s intentions.

As day faded into true darkness, Dean sat on the bed and waited. The balcony was open, letting in the dim light of the stars overhead. There was no moon out tonight, Nothing stirred, not the curtains, not the plants below, nothing. The villa’s silence was deafening, and Dean’s heart thundered in his chest.

_ Maybe it won’t come tonight _ …

He didn’t know what would be worse: facing the monster tonight or knowing he’d have to wait in anticipation at least another day. 

Dean was nodding off when the creature finally arrived. The bed chambers were already so dark, even after a few hours his eyes were barely able to make out the outline of the room. Even so, he was thrown into absolute darkness when the creature landed on the balcony.

_ Landed… it can fly. Alright, that helps narrow down what it is… _

Adrenaline spiked and Dean’s grip on the blade tightened, though he kept it hidden in case the monster could see better than he could. 

Footsteps, bare feet on cold stone, drew nearer and Dean stood up, ready for the inevitable fight. He might not be able to see the creature but surely in close quarters he wouldn’t need to. A few more steps, and then Dean would be able to reach out and stab it…

And then the scent hit him.

It was the same scent that he’d encountered all throughout the villa, the one that hinted at danger but never manifested as something identifiable. Now Dean was hit by the full, undiluted scent of the monster. It was… it was like nothing Dean had ever smelt before. 

It wasn’t any distinct smells, at least not ones that Dean knew, more like a feeling. It was the smell of lightning about to strike, like your heart racing before you fall, like the wind howling in the trees during a storm, like the thrill of stepping blindly into the dark. Dean felt all those things when he breathed in that scent. It smelt like danger,  _ felt _ like danger, but at the same time, Dean felt safe. Like he was at the center of a tornado, surrounded by death and destruction but utterly safe from harm. 

If anything, he was even safer; all the raw energy he smelt bottled up in that creature would ruin anything that tried to get to Dean.

The monster came even closer, so close that Dean could sense it right in front of him. He shook his head, confused by his reaction to the creature’s scent. It must be part of its magic, some illusion it cast to make Dean ignore his own instincts and not attack.

“Dean…” The voice was like honey, deep and rich and delicious and so many things a cruel monster’s voice shouldn’t be. “Welcome home.”

Dean shifted a little, trying desperately to get a fix on where the creature’s heart might be.

“You the one who cursed my kingdom and killed my parents?”

“No, but I’ve put an end to it.”

“Thanks for that.” 

Dean lunged forward and drove the knife right into the creature’s chest. There was the cackle of thunder and sparks shot out at the point of contact. The sparks were so faint they barely cast any light at all, yet still Dean was able to make out a pair of glowing blue eyes fixed on him. The creature, who in those brief seconds had seemed to have the appearance of a man, pulled the blade out of his chest and dropped it on the ground as if it was nothing.

The display of strength paired with those brilliant blue eyes was more arousing than Dean would’ve liked to admit. 

“As I was saying,” the creature continued, as though Dean hadn’t just tried to kill it, “your kingdom and your family are safe, I assure you.”

Dean had been expecting a fight. He’d trained long and hard to be able to kill the bastard responsible for all the woes that had befallen his kingdom. Now that he was confronted with the idea of having a conversation with him, Dean wasn’t sure how to react.

“That so?” His tone was uneven and wavered at the end. Determined not to let the monster know he was rattled, he grit out his next few words in an effort to sound even remotely in control of himself. “How’d you manage that?”

“The goddess whom you angered wouldn’t be satisfied until you were in the hands of a monster. And now, as far as the world is concerned, that’s happened.”

“What goddess did I piss off?”

There was a pause. “I can’t say. I think you’re better off not knowing.”

“Great.” Dean snorted a laugh. “Ignorance and bliss and all that, right? So what, I’m supposed to  _ thank _ you for kidnapping me? I should just take you at your word that you’re helping me? That you aren’t the one who caused all the trouble for Winchester and are just helping out of the goodness of your heart? ‘Cuz I don’t buy it.”

“You came here on your own,” he reminded Dean. “I understand your reservations, but I promise, I  _ am _ here to help you. Good things do happen.”

“Not in my experience. My mom, my dad, my people… they might all have something to say about that.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help sooner.” 

He sounded so genuine Dean almost believed him. Almost.

“And just who  _ are _ you, anyway?” Dean asked. “In case I want to call you something other than the Dick Who Kidnapped Me.”

“You may call me Emmanuel.”

“You my husband, Emmanuel? Because the Oracle seemed to think you were.”

“If you’d like me to be.”

Dean started. “You mean I get a choice?”

“Of course you do. I will never ask for anything you don’t wish to give. And I’ll do what I can to protect you and your kingdom, regardless of what you say here tonight or any other night. Though,” he added wryly, “I would appreciate if you didn’t try to stab me again.”

“If you’re expecting me to apologize for that, don’t hold your breath.” Dean was glad the darkness hid the blush now burning his cheeks and neck. “So Emmanuel, my not husband who’s only trying to help… am I allowed to leave?”

Silence stretched out until eventually Emmanuel sighed. “You’re here for your protection Dean.”

“Yeah right,” Dean scoffed. “Forgive me if I don’t just trust some disembodied voice telling me they’re my husband. You a monster or a god or something?”

“Or something,” he agreed.

“You dangerous?”

A small laugh accompanied his answer. “Aren't we all?

“That ain't exactly an answer.” Dean waited for Emmanuel to say more, but he didn’t, so Dean pressed the issue. “You ever kill anyone?”

“Not directly.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“You ordered people killed, then?”

“No, nothing like that. I've never meant anyone any ill will but... my nature is... difficult. I am not human, as you've guessed.” The creature shifted its weight as though nervous about the admission. “I... I tend to pollute the minds of men. Make them do things they normally wouldn't. Sometimes it ends badly, whether that was my intention or not.”

“Well don’t that sound ominous… you gonna do that to me, Emmanuel? Pollute my mind and make me do things I don’t wanna do?”

“No,” Emmanuel said earnestly. 

“No? You sure are full of promises, and I’ve got the feeling you can’t keep all of them.”

“I can't pollute your mind, if that makes you feel better. You're… and I’m…” 

Emmanuel growled, a hint of frustration leaking out and Dean was surprised to realize the man in front of him was an alpha. How had he not noticed that before? He was so off his game when it came to Emmanuel, and that didn’t bode well for getting out of here alive.

He kept talking, oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil. “When it comes to me, you're the safest person in the world. I understand that you have no reason to believe me, but I’m hoping with time you’ll come to trust me at least a little.”

“With time,” Dean said bitterly. “Because I’m not allowed to leave and you’re the only person I’m ever going to see again.”

“I wish there was another way, but for now that’s safest. I only have three rules: you must stay on the mountain, and you must never look at me. I stay to the shadows for a reason, and I need you to respect that reason. And finally, do not pray to the gods. They hear more than you would like, and the goddess who dislikes you might find out you’re with me, and she wouldn’t take kindly to knowing I’d deceived her. It wouldn’t end well. For either of us. Beyond that, you may do as you please. The house, the gardens, all of it are yours. Please promise me, Dean.”

Dean wanted to fight, to argue against the rules and demand to be let go or, failing that, to at least  _ see _ his jailor, but the fight went out of him almost immediately. It’d been a long day and he was exhausted. 

“Do I really have a choice?” Dean grumbled. “But fine, I promise. I won’t try to leave and I won’t try to look at you. And I won’t pray to the gods. Not like those assholes have done much for me as it is.”

“Thank you, Dean.” It was too dark to be sure, but imagined a relieved smile. “I think we’ll get along well…”


	4. The Unlikely Pair

**** Dean had lived his whole life surrounded by people. It was the nature of living at court. Servants, guests, nobles, people seeking audiences with the royal family; the palace was always teeming with life and activity.

The same could not be said for the villa. During the day, there was Dean and the few animals who could endure the thin mountain air and had somehow managed the ascent. As a child, Dean had always wished for more privacy and time to himself. Now that he had nothing  _ but _ free time and no one to spend it with, Dean longed for something as mundane as smalltalk or sitting through boring council meetings. Even the droning voice of his advisors would surely be better than listening to the sound of his own voice echo off the empty walls.

Each morning, Dean found the house as empty as the day before, but there were signs that the house had been tended. Fresh flowers decorated the halls, not a speck of dust or dirt marred the furniture or walls, and whenever Dean wandered to the dining hall at meal times, food appeared as if by magic. It probably  _ was _ magic, though Dean wasn’t sure how he felt knowing his food was prepared by magic instead of by living, breathing people.

It wasn’t though Dean had spent a lot of time speaking to the servants and staff that tended the palace back in Winchester. It wasn’t “proper” for someone of his rank, and even less so for an unmated omega to be alone with alphas. Yet there was something profoundly unnerving about the total  _ lack _ of servants here. 

In times like these, tradition suggested to seek solace from the gods. How many people had told him as much when the fire took his mother or sickness killed his father? His parents had always encouraged dutiful worship of the gods (“The gods are watching out for you, honey,” his mom was fond of saying), but standing before their sightless statues, Dean had never much believed they were listening. 

Emmanuel seemed to think they were. There was a room in the back of the villa that had clearly been designed as a shrine, but every altar that should hold a statue of a god or goddess stood empty. He clearly thought they could see or hear through their stone replicas and didn’t want them finding out about this place.

There were days when Dean stood in the empty, abandoned room and thought about praying for help. But each time, Dean decided to leave well enough alone. While he doubted the gods cared much for him or his fate, there seemed more likelihood that they’d be  _ against _ him. Both Emmanuel and the oracle thought there was a god at work here, and without knowing which one, Dean risked praying to the one who had it out for him. 

He shuddered. The way he’d felt being at the Fates’ mercy… They hadn’t even been  _ angry _ at him, and Dean had felt on the brink of being torn apart. 

In this one respect, Dean was thankful to be alone.

The only time Dean had any true company was at night, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about Emmanuel’s visits.

Emmanuel came as soon as night settled over the villa, but it was always so damn dark Dean had yet to catch a glimpse of his face. Even the stars and moonlight seemed muted when Emmanuel was there. 

The first night, Dean had been afraid that Emmanuel would try to claim him as a mate. Emmanuel was all pretty words, but he was still some inhuman creature holding him captive. What was to prevent him from taking Dean should he want to? But Emmanuel was nothing if not a gentleman, and kept his word. He respected Dean’s boundaries and didn’t push for any physical touch. 

They did share a bed. Emmanuel slept on the side closer to the balcony and kept to that side. Not once did he invade Dean’s half of the bed; he stole not even a single fleeting touch and didn’t even allow his feet to stray into that unspoken, neutral territory. Dean was still unnerved to have Emmanuel so close, but as the days stretched into weeks without incident, Dean found himself believing more and more in Emmanuel’s promises. 

Perhaps it was Dean’s growing loneliness, but he found himself talking to Emmanuel. Conversation was stilted at first, usually consisting of Dean listing what he’d done that day, but as he grew more comfortable, he opened up more.

Dean told him all about Winchester: the land, the people, the palace, the life he’d had there. More often than not, Dean spoke of his brothers and his parents, Kate included, and was pleased to have Emmanuel not only listen but enquire about them. So often people had paid lip service to Dean, playing the part of interested listener, yet later it was obvious they hadn't paid attention. Not Emmanuel; he actually  _ listened _ and  _ cared _ about what Dean had to say.

It was strangely gratifying.

More than that, Emmanuel was actually quite funny and charming. His dry sense of humor had surprised a laugh out of Dean on several occasions, and he told good stories. He never shared much of his own family, just vague details about his parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but never once did he name them. Instead he told stories about the world of men, things Dean had only read about in history books but that Emmanuel had apparently witnessed first hand.

If half of what Emmanuel told him was to be believed, he must be centuries old.

“You can’t really have been at the Battle of Ilchester,” Dean whispered. He always found himself speaking more quietly around Emmanuel, though he didn't know why. “That took place before my great great grandfather was born. You can’t really be that old.”

“Does it bother you?” Emmanuel asked hesitantly. “That I’m so old?”

A great many things bothered Dean when it came to Emmanuel. In truth, his age was the least of it.

“No. It just reminds me that I must seem like a child to you in comparison.”

“Does a dog seem like a child to you when it’s twelve years old?”

“Well, no. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“You judge a creature as old or young not by how many years they’ve seen or by how I would judge my own kin at such an age, but by how old they act and the markers their species use to judge such things. Twelve for a dog is quite old, yet it’s young for a human and near meaningless to my kind. A twelve year old dog is to be shown all the respect of any other adult might deserve.”

“So what? You take me as seriously as your thousand year old cousins?”

“More so. You aren’t aware of how absurd my cousins can be.”

“... I can’t tell if you’re being serious or pulling my leg.”

“I would  _ never _ pull your leg without permission, Dean.”

He couldn’t help it; Dean laughed. “Don’t ever change, man. I might change my mind if you decide to eat me or something, but you’re one of the good ones, Emmanuel. Of all the monsters out there who could’ve kidnapped me, I’m glad it was you.”

Although he'd meant it as a joke, he could practically  _ hear _ Emmanuel's distress.

“You’re not… unhappy here, are you? I am aware that the situation is by no means ideal, but I hope you know that I would return you to your kingdom in an instant if I at all thought it was safe to do so—”

“Hey, it’s alright. I believe you. Mostly, anyway. I’m not... I’m not miserable or anything. I’ve come to terms with things. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it. It could be worse. You could be some lecherous alpha trying to take what’s not yours. You could keep me locked up in a dungeon, or not feed me, or do any number of terrible things, but you don’t. So… yeah. I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with.”

Emmanuel was quiet for a long time, so long that Dean thought he might’ve fallen asleep. ( _ Did _ Emmanuel even sleep? Dean still wasn't sure.)

“So that’s all? My only redeeming quality is that I ‘could be worse’?”

The pain in his voice was so strong that Dean had to resist the urge to reach out and comfort him. That was absurd. Emmanuel was an ancient creature; no matter  _ what _ he said, Dean was nothing. Why should he care what Dean thought of him?

And why should Dean care even if he did?

“Look, I don’t know how things would be if we’d met in different circumstances. You seem like a nice… whatever it is you are. Maybe we’d be friends, maybe we wouldn’t. I think maybe we might've been, but who knows.”

The air almost cackled with energy, the smell of  _ danger _ tickling Dean's nose until it abruptly faded.

“I see. I’m sorry, I have no right to esteem to your friendship. The way we met, the way things are, none of that is ideal. It’s selfish of me to want more.”

Dean bit his lip to keep from answering. There was no way he could speak truthfully without insulting Emmanuel, and he generally avoided antagonizing him. He still hadn’t figured out a way to kill him and get out of here. Until then, he’d just have to play nice. 

_ Do I even  _ **_want_ ** _ to kill him anymore? _

_ Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I? _

“I’m sorry you’re not happy, Dean,” Emmanuel said. “I’ll do what I can to make things better here.”

Rolling over so his back was to Emmanuel—probably a bad idea, but Emmanuel could attack him at any time anyway, so what did it matter?—Dean muttered a “don't worry about it” and tried to go to sleep. 

\- - - -

The gifts started shortly after that.

Fine clothing filled the closets, all perfectly tailored for Dean and in the style he wore back home. New cloaks of fur or velvet or woven strands of gold would be laid out over Emmanuel’s side of the bed or on the table by the balcony. There were jewels and a silver crown fit for a king, so many fine gifts meant to impress Dean.

Dean ignored them all. He wore only the simplest outfits, the ones without gems woven into the collar and lacking the intricate embroidery. The rest he stuffed into the chest at the foot of their bed.

All his life, he’d been given gifts like this. Other kingdoms wanting to curry favor with his parents, nobles in his own kingdom doing the same, and later suitors trying to woo him. They were the type of gifts that was supposed to be appreciated because of their value, but were otherwise completely impersonal. There was no thought or feeling behind them, and Dean had never cared for them before, especially not in comparison to the gifts his parents and brothers got him. Things for  _ him _ , things that only someone who knew him would be able to pick out.

It did  _ not _ make Dean feel better about Emmanuel. That he in any way could be put in the same category as the numerous suitors Dean had dealt with over the years… 

“The oracle called him your husband,” he reminded himself as he dumped a bag of sapphires into the chest. Admittedly, he’d liked the sapphires (the color was especially beautiful, reminding him of something he couldn’t place), but what did he need sapphires for? Besides, it was best not to encourage Emmanuel. The bag barely fit in the chest, and Dean had to struggle to close the lid. “Maybe he’s trying to court you like all the others did.”

The thought haunted Dean throughout the day and that night, he felt he had to bring it up.

“Can you cut it out with the gifts?” Dean asked without preamble. 

The bed dipped as Emmanuel climbed on. “Do you not like them?”

“They’re nice, but you’re not going to win me over with jewels and gold and silk. I’m never going to agree to marry you.”

“Dean, I would never presume… You said you were unhappy, and I wanted to cheer you up. I apologize if my attempts at gift giving have fallen short. I’ve never had opportunity to give gifts before.”

“Wait, what? You never gotten your family anything for their birthdays before?”

“... Our kind is more used to receiving gifts than giving them.”

Dean let that sink in. There were plenty of stories of sacrifices and tributes paid to monsters in the hope to appease their wrath, all testament to how true that statement was.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Dean wanted to stay angry, to be indignant for all the people who’d had to deal with Emmanuel and his family before. Instead he found himself saying, “You can’t just get people expensive gifts and expect them to like them.”

“... People are always giving me expensive gifts. I assume they expect  _ me  _ to like them.”

“And do you?”

“... No, not particularly.”

“See! Look, a good gift isn’t shiny or expensive. A good gift is something the other person wants, something they’d use… something that shows that you  _ know _ the person and were able to find them something that’s the perfect gift  _ for them _ . 

“Take my brothers for instance. I get my brother Adam wood carvings because he loves playing with them, but if I got those for my brother Sam, he’d pretend to like them and then put them on a shelf to forget.”

“So what do you get for Sam?”

“Depends. He goes through phases, so it changes from year to year. Lately he’s wanted to be a mage, so I’ve been getting him ingredients for his alchemy set.”

“I see.” A slight pause, and Dean imagined Emmanuel frowning as he tried to piece together what Dean had told him.. “And what do they get you?”

“Well, this one time Sam and my stepmom got me—Hey! That’s cheating. Seriously, no more gifts, please.” 

“Yes, Dean.”

True to his words, the gifts stopped. Dean was both pleased that Emmanuel had listened and disappointed; whether he’d actually used them or not, Dean had grown accustomed to finding the gifts and marveling at their beauty before hiding them out of sight.

What replaced them were small gestures.

Flowers and herbal salts would be awaiting Dean by the baths in the morning. Nothing extravagant, always things readily available at the villa, but laid out and ready for him. Or perhaps he’d find a bowl of freshly picked berries waiting on the nightstand. And in the library, there would almost certainly be books waiting on the table for him, a comfortable chaise lounge pulled over. Books that had obviously been handpicked just for Dean.

Dean liked this a whole lot better than the gifts.

\- - - -

“Do you remember what Winchester was like before my family settled it?” Dean asked while playing with a frayed edge of the blanket. 

“It was a land filled with monsters. I didn’t travel there much. My... work brings me to places with people. If there are no people, there’s no reason for me to be there.”

“Oh.”

“What is it, Dean?”

“Is that where you go when you’re not here? You’re  _ working _ in places where there are people?” It was hard to keep from sounding resentful; Emmanuel could come and go as he pleased, while Dean was trapped here.

“... Yes. If it makes you feel better, I rarely interact with them. I’m there to observe and… work. I often go unnoticed. With few exceptions, the only person I ever talk to is you.”

“So we’re both all the other’s got?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“You ever going to tell me what your  _ work _ entails?”

“I can’t. The more you know, the more danger you’re in. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s alright, I didn’t really expect you to... But you don’t kill people? Torture them or anything like that?”

“Not in the way you imagine, no. I’ve come to understand that my  _ work _ can bring pain, but also that it can bring joy. There’s a balance there, between pain and pleasure, and I’m often helpless when it comes to which side things end up on.”

“You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe someday I can tell you more—”

“Don’t take promises you can’t keep, Emmanuel.” Dean rolled away from Emmanuel. This was his life now, and it’s all he’d ever have; late night conversations with a being he’d never even laid eyes on and who’d be gone by morning.

“... Please know that this is not the way I wish things to be.”

“Let’s just… not talk about this anymore, okay? Sorry I brought it up.”

“As you wish. What would you rather talk about instead?”

“Just… tell me a story, maybe? I don’t care what it’s about, just don’t expect me to say much. I don’t really feel like I’d be good company right now.”

“Alright… Have you ever heard the story of how the god Chuck disguised himself as a human to life among your kind?”

“... That never happened.” Dean might not be the religious type, but he’d heard plenty of stories about the gods as a child.  _ That _ one he’d remember.

“It did, though. He disappeared from Heaven for decades. It caused quite the panic and a minor civil war as the other gods tried to battle for control in his absence. It happened probably… three centuries ago? I’m not good with your metric of time, but it was certainly before Winchester was a kingdom…”

Emmanuel droned on and on, and Dean settled into the blankets. He very much enjoyed listening to Emmanuel’s voice as he fell asleep.

\- - - -

Emmanuel never stayed the whole night. No matter how late Dean tried to stay awake or how early he woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. It was frustrating. Dean wanted to get a better look at him so he could  _ see _ the creature he was going to kill someday. 

He didn’t know  _ how _ he was going to do it. The demon blade hadn’t worked, and that had been the one ace up Dean’s sleeve. Without it, he needed to know  _ what _ Emmanuel was before he could even  _ begin _ to form a plan. 

Even though it was useless, Dean slept with the dagger under his pillow. It had done  _ something _ to Emmanuel when Dean stabbed him. Maybe the issue wasn’t the blade itself, but that Dean had struck him in the heart. He wasn’t human, maybe he didn’t have a heart. He must have  _ some _ weak spot that Dean could exploit.

The library was helpful in that way. While Emmanuel was good at picking out story books and history tomes that might pique Dean’s interest, there were also plenty of books about monsters and demons. Dean carefully read through those, making note of each one’s strengths and weaknesses, and then tried to match it with what he knew about Emmanuel. 

Emmanuel could fly. 

Emmanuel had the face of a man, at least as far as Dean could tell from the brief glimpse he got.

Emmanuel was an alpha.

Emmanuel was small enough to fit on the bed.

Emmanuel was centuries old.

And that was pretty much it. Everything else Dean thought he knew was based on conjecture. Like that Emmanuel had to be powerful if he at all stood a chance of hiding Dean from the gods. And powerful in what way? Physically? Magically? Was he merely good at concealment or deception?

_ What was Emmanuel? _

Dean’s whole future hung on that question, and yet he was no closer to an answer now than when he’d sought out the oracle’s help.

How the hell was he supposed to get out of here?

\- - - -

“How long have you lived here?” Dean stared up at the canopy. Not that it mattered; Emmanuel’s presence ensured total darkness. His eyes could be closed for all the difference it would make.

“I’ve only had this home for the better part of a century. Before that it belonged to a family of dryads.”

“What happened to them?”

“They inhabit the forests near Moondoor now. They gave me the villa in exchange for my… services. One of them also had the unwanted attention of a god, and they sought my help moving that attention elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Dean shifted to face Emmanuel, for all the good it did in the dark. “Why’d they ask  _ you _ for help? Sounds like they should’ve asked a god. Like Castiel. Shouldn’t the God of Love be able to help with ‘unwanted attention’?”

Emmanuel was quiet for a moment before he whispered, “You shouldn’t say the gods’ names. Even if you aren’t praying, they might be listening. There’s power in their names.”

“What? You worried the God of Love is gonna bust down your doors? Doubt it.” Dean huffed a laugh at the idea. The God of Love was notorious for avoiding mankind and their issues. He worked in secret, though evidence of his presence was everywhere.

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t,” Emmanuel said wryly. “But still. It’s best not to tempt fate.”

Dean wanted to push a little more, but in the end he gave up. The gods were capricious, as likely to hurt as help those who sought their guidance. He was probably better off without them, and he could understand why the dryads might feel the same.

“So you just go around helping people escape the wrath of the gods? Isn’t that dangerous?”

The bed shifted slightly; no doubt Emmanuel was shrugging. 

“I suppose. I don’t do it often. I usually like to avoid the attention. Given the choice, I’d just quietly do my work and come here to relax. Very few people know about this place, and it’s become a sanctuary from my family. Though I must say,” he quickly added, “I’ve enjoyed having some company.” 

Dean smiled despite himself, then shook his head to dispel the momentary pleasure he felt. So what if Emmanuel enjoyed his company? Dean certainly didn’t enjoy  _ his _ . Occasionally Emmanuel  _ was _ surprisingly charming, and mostly because he wasn’t  _ trying _ to be charming, but that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

“So am I the only person you’ve brought up here?” he said gruffly. Hopefully Emmanuel wouldn’t be able to tell the direction his thoughts had wandered.

“The only human, yes. My cousin sometimes visits, the one I actually get along with, but no one else knows I even own this villa.”

“Oh.” Emmanuel trusted him in his home. That was actually kind of touching. “Didn’t realize I was so special,” Dean added as he tried to brush it off as a joke.

“You are very special Dean.”

Dean most certainly did  _ not _ blush. Even so, he was glad the darkness hid the slight coloring of his cheeks. Just in case.

\- - - -

It was an ordinary morning. The birds were singing outside in the gardens, the sun was warming the bed, and the smell of fresh bread woke Dean up. He sighed and rolled over, grasping at the abandoned pillows and blankets. With a pleased sigh, Dean buried his face in them and breathed in the familiar scent. That wonderfully pleasant, danger-laced smell that was so damn comforting, he’d never get enough of it.

And then, right then in his sleep-rattled brain, Dean realized he missed Emmanuel. 

Dean jolted away from Emmanuel’s side of the bed and nearly fell off the edge. 

“Wh-what?” he gasped as he tried to calm his erratic breathing. “I can’t… I don’t… He’s a monster!”

His hand flew to the dagger under his pillow and clenched it tight. He was here to  _ kill _ Emmanuel. 

… And yet the thought of watching the life drain from Emmanuel as Dean thrust the dagger into him was painful beyond words. 

Angry at himself for being so weak as to  _ befriend _ the monster keeping him captive, Dean threw the dagger clear across the room and buried his face in his hands. 

If he couldn’t bring himself to kill Emmanuel, he was well and truly trapped here.


	5. The Desperate Omega

****In the wake of realizing he’d actually grown _fond_ of Emmanuel, Dean shut down. It was one thing to be civil to each other, but knowing he actually _cared_ about the monster… How had things gone so wrong?

He couldn’t handle being around Emmanuel right now. He needed distance to help him figure out his own head.

His own heart…

The easiest part was avoiding Emmanuel. He stayed away from the bedroom, sleeping in the library for the next few nights. Once or twice, he thought he saw a great shadow fly over the gardens just as the sun set. It worried him, knowing Emmanuel was so damn _big_ , and that if he chose to come after Dean, there was literally nothing he could do to stop him.

But Emmanuel didn’t come. He kept to the bedroom and let Dean be.

The hard part was getting a handle on his own emotions. Being honest with himself was difficult. All his life, his companions had been chosen for him. Nobles his own age, usually other omegas or maybe betas, and all carefully vetted by his parents. Dean had never had to think twice about a friendship with any of them, because they’d all been safe.

Emmanuel wasn’t safe.

Emmanuel was a monster, some supernatural creature who’d kept him captive these past few months. He might appear kind and good, but he could be treacherous. Dean had no reason to trust him, should still be trying to _kill_ him for the part he played in Winchester’s suffering. Dean should _hate_ him.

And yet he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Emmanuel.

Whether he liked it or not, Dean truly cared about Emmanuel. They’d become friends, better friends than any of the youths Dean had grown up with. Yes, Emmanuel was his captor, but if Dean were being honest with himself, he believed what Emmanuel had told him: everything he’d done, he’d done to save Dean from whatever goddess he’d angered. A goddess powerful enough to kill his parents and ruin his kingdom… yet Emmanuel was standing between Dean and certain death.

Their relationship might be unusual, but Dean couldn’t deny that they had one. They were friends at the very least, and if push came to shove, Dean didn’t want to hurt Emmanuel.

Dean stewed in his thoughts for a few more nights before he decided he was only hurting himself, staying away. His back was aching from three nights on the chaise and he craved the comfort of his own bed.

And, admittedly, he missed Emmanuel.

He lay on the bed that night, tucked into the covers and enjoying the familiar sound of the garden crickets. He was mentally exhausted, but sleep continued to elude him. His nerves were wound tight in anticipation and would allow him no rest, not until he’d heard Emmanuel and knew things were okay between them after his disappearing act.

The air in the room shifted and the gentle sound of feet setting down on the ground made Dean nearly jump up. Somehow he forced himself to remain still and wait for Emmanuel to approach the bed.

“You’re back.” Emmanuel sounded both eager and relieved. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean rolled over and wanted to kick himself for forgetting how damn _dark_ it was when Emmanuel was there; no matter how long he stayed, Dean’s eyes never properly adjusted enough to let him see. “Missed having you around, I guess,” he muttered despite his embarrassment.

“I missed you, too,” Emmanuel said fondly. He’d taken his usual spot on the opposite side of the bed, and the bed frame creaked as he settled in. “I didn’t realize how lonely it’d be without someone to talk to. I’ve gone so long without needing companionship, and now that I have it, I find it hard to go without.”

Guilt flooded Dean. He hadn’t thought about what Emmanuel might be losing if Dean disappeared on him.

“If you missed me, then why didn’t you come looking for me. You must’ve known I was in the house…”

Emmanuel sounded genuinely confused. “I thought you wanted your space. How could I take that from you if that’s what you needed?”

Dean’s heart swelled. _He_ hadn’t considered Emmanuel’s feelings at all when he’d left, but Emmanuel had clearly thought about Dean’s.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but in that moment Dean wanted to be closer to Emmanuel. He reached across the empty space, the tips of his fingers brushing Emmanuel’s arm, and he left them there for a second before pulling away.

“Thanks, Emmanuel. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dean.”

\- - - -

Things were stilted for a while after that. Dean wasn’t sure how to act around Emmanuel now, and Emmanuel seemed to sense his discomfort and held back. He let Dean set the tone for conversation and their interactions, and it took Dean a while to regain his equilibrium knowing how he felt about Emmanuel.

He found himself obsessing over every interaction, trying to gauge not only his own feelings but Emmanuel’s as well. It drove him crazy to the point where he forced himself to forget it. They got along, that was all that mattered.

\- - - -

Dean should’ve seen this coming.

In his defense, it was easy to lose track of time at the villa. The seasons shifted so subtly here, especially with everything in bloom all at once, and each day was so like the one before that they ran together.

Still, Dean should’ve been more diligent about keeping track. He’d let himself get so caught up in things and now it was too late to do anything.

He was in heat.

One moment he was dreaming of beautiful blue eyes and strong hands, whispered endearments and tender touches. The next he was awake and overcome with raw need. His body ached. Sweat and salt clung to him, slick pooled in the sheets as he writhed and begged for relief. His body took over, seeking friction as he ground against the mattress. It wasn’t nearly enough, just a temporary solution, but Dean sighed happily as he came against the sheets.

As he lay there in his own come and slick, Dean tried not to panic.

He hadn’t expected to be here this long. He was supposed to climb the mountain, slay the monster, and go home triumphant. Either that or die in the attempt. There’d been no Plan B, no consideration for a life trapped up here. The time he’d foreseen had been measured in days, not _months_. If he’d known…

What? Would he have brought along the tools he normally used during heats? It was mortifying to call them ‘toys’ no matter how much he enjoyed them, and more mortifying still to think of _packing_ them. No, even if he’d known his time here would be long enough that he’d go into heat, Dean wouldn’t have taken anything. He would’ve laughed with forced bravado and claimed he’d deal with the discomfort.

He really wished he had something, _anything_ to ease the pain.

The rest of the day was lost in a fever dream as he thrust weakly into his hand and wished he had something better than his fingers to fill himself. It was exhausting, trying to keep up with the demands of his heat, and he wished he could just curl into a ball and sleep through the next few days until it was over.

Hours before dark, Dean longed for Emmanuel. His scent was everywhere and Dean was so hard, so _empty_ … What would it feel like to be with an alpha? Emmanuel was a monster, surely he’d be rough. He’d take Dean again and again… Dean shouldn’t want that, probably didn’t in truth, but with his heat rolling through him with wave after wave of desire, he knew he’d beg for it when Emmanuel arrived.

He could leave. Flee to the library again and wait out his heat. Emmanuel would know, there was no way to clear out the scent of sex and slick in the bedroom, but if he left, Dean trusted that Emmanuel wouldn’t follow.

But the fact remained that Dean didn’t _want_ to go to the library. He wanted the soft blankets and plush mattress and he wanted Emmanuel’s scent all around him and his cock in him—

“Oh!” he gasped as he came again, likely the fifth orgasm he’d wrung out of his fevered body that day.

As the last traces of dusk faded into dark, Dean lay there dreading and longing for what would come next.

The wind whistled in the trees and the telltale sound of Emmanuel landing made Dean jerk awake. Instead of his slow approach to the bed, Emmanuel stayed by the window a moment, sniffing the air before rushing over.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“Heat,” he grit out.

“I know,” Emmanuel soothed. “I can smell that. Tell me what I can do for you. Do you need something to eat? I can make you tea—”

“No!” Dean was hungry, thirsty, exhausted, but his body wanted only one thing right now. The rest could come later. “Fuck me, knot me, I don't care, just make me feel good.”

“Dean…”

There was a warning there, and Dean could hear the refusal coming. Not letting it get that far, Dean got on his hands and knees and presented.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged. “Please…”

Emmanuel growled and damn if that wasn’t arousing. Slick leaked freely from his hole, Dean’s clothes long since discarded. The bed shifted as Emmanuel crawled behind Dean. He could feel feather light touches along his back and Dean arched into them, wanting more. As if hearing the unspoken request, fingers came to stroke up and down his back, along his thighs, cupped his ass.

Dean had expected scales or perhaps bark-like skin, but aside from some callouses, Emmanuel's touch was gentle. It felt completely human, every touch careful and deliberate and so unlike the greedy, harsh creature Dean thought he'd be facing.

The caresses kept going for a while, coaxing Dean to relax. He’d expected to be fucked almost instantly, especially now that he’d given permission and was literally _pleading_ with Emmanuel, but Emmanuel took his time to massage out the kinks and knots that had worked themselves into Dean’s muscles throughout the day. He started as far as he could reach and made his way closer and closer to Dean’s hole.

Only when he was teasing Dean's crack did he speak. “Have you ever had a partner?”

“No.” It wasn't that he hadn't had the opportunity, not protecting his virtue had been paramount. “Omega princes can't… we can't afford—”

“Shhh, don't worry. I'll take care of you, Dean. If there's anything you want or need, you have but to ask and it's yours.”

“Make me come,” Dean whimpered. “Fuck me. Just… just _help_ …”

“Of course. I’ll help you. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Then came the first tentative brush of Emmanuel’s fingers against Dean’s hole. Dean grit his teeth to keep from leaning into his touch, forcing himself to stay still and let Emmanuel take care of him like he said he would.

His fingers traced Dean’s rim several times. Dean waited as patiently as he could, but he wanted things to move along. He dreaded any intrusion, whether it be Emmanuel’s fingers or his cock or, worse yet, an actual knot, but his body demands to be filled and stretched. He’d just have to trust that his body knew what it wanted and could actually handle it.

Emmanuel shuffled behind him and Dean fisted the sheets, bracing for Emmanuel’s cock. Instead he felt hot breath and then Emmanuel’s tongue was lapping at his hole.

“Holy…” Dean lost the ability to speak as Emmanuel’s tongue greedily licked up his slick, traced Dean’s hole again and again before finally pushing inside. “Oh _fuck_ —don’t stop don’t stop oh please don’t stop…”

The tools he’d used to manage his heat back in Winchester were nothing in comparison to Emmanuel’s tongue. How he’d ever survived a heat before, he had no idea, and Dean felt certain he never wanted to go through another one without Emmanuel. This was bliss. This was amazing. This was absolutely _perfect_.

Dean rode the fine line between too much and not quite enough stimulation. Then there was a hand on his cock and Emmanuel’s fingers thrusting in alongside his tongue. He mewled as he came, whining as Emmanuel kept working him through his orgasm until he was completely spent.

Before he could collapse onto the bed, Emmanuel easily lifted him and placed him on the other side of the bed.

“Not there,” he scolded, then disappeared.

Cool air from the window blew against Dean’s overheated skin and he slowly came back to himself. He felt better than he had all day, actually at ease and not wound up with need. The only thing missing was Emmanuel. It felt awful to be abandoned by his bedmate so soon after. It wasn’t as though he’d _expected_ them to remain close afterward, he honestly hadn’t thought about it at all, but there was something obviously missing now that he was alone.

Dean gasped as a cool, damp cloth was dragged over his belly and cock, then over his ass. Next the spoiled sheets and blankets were replaced with fresh ones.

“What else can I do for you?” Emmanuel whispered right in his ear. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since yesterday,” Dean admitted. Emmanuel was so close that Dean could’ve reached out to touch him. He didn’t, though, and Emmanuel pulled away.

“I’ll be back soon. Try to rest.”

When Emmanuel returned, he propped Dean against the headboard and fed him fruits and berries. The attention was both welcome and embarrassing; Dean wasn’t completely helpless, but when he tried to feed himself, Emmanuel didn’t quite _growl_ , but it was clear he wanted to do it. It was kind of nice, being taken care of for once.

Once he was full, completely sated in all the ways he hadn’t been since his heat snuck up on him, Dean relaxed into the blankets. Emmanuel kept a respectable distance, but he hovered closer than usual to fluff Dean’s pillows and otherwise offer Dean whatever he might want.

It was extremely sweet, but it made Dean wonder. Emmanuel was practically spoiling him, yet he’d not given him the one thing Dean had specifically asked for.

“Why didn’t you want to… why didn’t you…?” He simply couldn’t force the words out, but he hoped Emmanuel understood what he was asking.

_Why didn’t you have sex with me?_

“I would love to, but your heat is not the time to discuss it. You’re not yourself, and I don’t want to take advantage of the situation. If you’d still like to have sex once it’s passed, we can talk about it then. But for now… I’ll help you in any way I can _except_ that.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you.”

What on earth had Dean ever done to deserve someone like Emmanuel?

They didn’t cuddle, no matter how tempting it was, and just before dawn Emmanuel helped Dean through another wave of arousal. His fingers were divine as they teased his cock and filled his hole and brought him to a much needed orgasm. When Dean offered to reciprocate, Emmanuel said it wasn’t necessary.

“I’m here for _you_. My own pleasure can wait until you’re feeling better.”

He really _really_ didn’t deserve Emmanuel.

When he woke up alone, Dean was upset. It was foolish to think Emmanuel would actually _stay_ , but still, he’d hoped.

He was slightly mollified when he saw the herbal tea waiting for him. The smell was a little bitter, but Dean recognized it as the same tea his mother had brewed to help with her own heats. It couldn’t dampen it completely, but it lessened the discomfort. Even if he had to endure seemingly endless arousal, at least the fever and cramps wouldn’t be there.

The whole day he lounged around on the bed. Emmanuel had also left plenty of fruit, cheeses, and bread for him to snack on, and Dean appreciated it. The very _idea_ of walking down to the dining room or kitchen made him weary.

During the day, with the herbs to help him through it, things were almost bearable. And at night when his body demanded _more_ , Emmanuel was there. For the next two nights, Emmanuel helped him navigate his body’s needs. With his mouth and fingers, he drew Dean to orgasm again and again. Dean’s heat was all but over when Emmanuel’s lips stretched around his cock and brought him to ecstasy one more time.

By the gods, he wished he could see Emmanuel swallowing his come.

… He wished he could see Emmanuel at all.

As Emmanuel cleaned him up, Dean lamented that he was about to lose this newfound intimacy. Three days of agonizing bliss, only to return to the way things were? Emmanuel said they’d need to talk about things, and now Dean was sure where he stood. But for now, with fatigue weighing down his eyelids, Dean settled for asking one last thing of Emmanuel.

“Could you… could you hold me tonight? I… I think I’d like that… if it’s alright?” It was almost absurd to ask such a thing after everything else, and he regretted it until he felt Emmanuel shift closer to him.

“I’ll stay as close as you want, for as long as you want,” Emmanuel reassured him. They weren’t touching, not yet, so Dean shuffled backwards until his back was flush to Emmanuel’s chest.

Once again, he was surprised by how _human_ Emmanuel felt. As far as Dean could tell, he was a man, which made no sense. He could _fly_ , he was a _monster_ , there must be _something_ inhuman about him—

_Maybe he’s a shapeshifter…_

The thought was instantly banished when he felt Emmanuel’s half-hard cock pinned against his lower back. Not once during Dean’s heat did Emmanuel attempt to take care of his own needs, and Dean had felt increasingly guilty about it. His exhaustion had kept him from pushing the matter too much. Now, though, he had no excuse.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to...?”

“It’s fine.” Emmanuel dismissed him so casually that Dean might’ve believed him if not for how firmly his cock pressed against Dean. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you’d still like to.”

“My heat’s basically over,” he argued.

“But not completely.” He nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck and slipped his arms around his chest. “I can be patient. You’re worth the wait.”

Not sure how to handle such a compliment, Dean instead focused on matching his breathing to Emmanuel’s, and fell asleep feeling better than he had since he’d arrived at the villa.

Maybe even longer than that.

\- - - -

Dean left the bedroom as soon as he woke up. It smelled of sex and was absolutely suffused with his and Emmanuel’s combined scent. It made it _impossible_ to think clearly, and Dean _had_ to think clearly. He took a much needed bath, put on some fresh clothes, and went for a walk in the gardens. The fresh air and exercise would do him good.

Bunnies scampered along the path and Dean was surprised to see a doe and fawn nibbling on some grass at the far edge of the garden. It was well into winter, yet the valley was teeming with new life. Whatever magic Emmanuel possessed, it was strong.

“Emmanuel,” Dean sighed as he took a seat under an apple tree. “What am I going to do with you?”

 

Whatever he wanted, was apparently the answer.

Now that the last of Dean’s heat was over, he was embarrassed by how needy he’d been. He’d barely been able to reconcile his situation with his growing feelings for Emmanuel, and then he’d begged for the alpha’s cock. His body had betrayed him before he was ready. Worst of all, Dean was disappointed most because Emmanuel _hadn’t even knotted him_.

He was also very relieved—Emmanuel had been absolutely right, mid-heat was the _last_ time Dean should be making decisions like that—but Dean couldn’t deny he was disappointed.

“So what do I want?” Dean asked the sparrow that landed on a low branch. It tilted its head and chirped at him.

“What do you mean, I want Emmanuel?” he scoffed. The bird chirped again.

“Why would I want Emmanuel? Just because he’s kind and smart and genuinely seems to care about me and is leaps and bounds a better man than any suitor who’s tried to win my hand? That’s supposed to be enough, huh?”

If Dean didn’t know better, the bird rolled its eyes at him before taking flight.

“Stupid bird!” he called after it. “A lot of help you were!” It didn’t look back as it took off over the trees.

“Guess I’m on my own with this one,” Dean grumbled as he leaned back against the trunk. He idly watched the clouds pass overhead and avoided coming to the one inevitable conclusion his heart had reached some time ago.

He might not be in love with Emmanuel yet, but he was well on his way to falling for him.

“Damn oracle was right. He might be my husband after all.”

As soon as he’d admitted it out loud, it was hard to keep himself distracted for the rest of the day. He tried reading and drawing and tiring himself out with exercise, but to no avail. His mind was on a constant loop of _Emmanuel Emmanuel Emmanuel._

He settled into bed far too early and watched the sunlight fade into dusk, and then finally give way to night. Dean worried he’d drift off before Emmanuel arrived, but he appeared earlier than usual.

“Dean,” he breathed and Dean knew right then and there he was lost. There was no coming back from this.

“Emmanuel.”

“How was your day?” Emmanuel edged closer to the bed before claiming his usual spot.

“It was good.” His toes were curled in anticipation. His cock was already hard, slick starting to wet his clothes. “Missed you.”

Emmanuel crawled onto the bed and hovered over Dean. “We should… discuss things. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but I also didn’t want to… dismiss the things you’d asked for. Whatever you decide, I’ll be happy to follow along.”

“Whatever _we_ decide,” Dean corrected. He reached out blindly and grazed linen. “I want this. I've thought about it a lot… I can't deny I never thought we'd get _here_ , but we did… I'm ready.”

A hand grabbed his and their fingers intertwined together. “There's nothing I'd like more than to be with you, Dean. I never thought you'd want me, given the circumstances, but of course I was selfish enough to _hope_ … I was overjoyed when you first arrived and would even be in the same room as me, never mind speak to me… _This_ was out of the question entirely.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?”

“It would seem so.” Emmanuel hesitated a moment, fingers trailing along the blanket at Dean’s side but never touching him. “May I kiss you, Dean?”

“You better,” Dean growled before taking the initiative. He reached up blindly for Emmanuel, threading his fingers through his hair and pulling him down. Even in the dark, he could tell the hair was a windswept mess. Dean chuckled at that; somehow the idea of Emmanuel looking a mess was endearing to him. Their lips brushed and Dean whispered, “Go ahead. Kiss me.”

Emmanuel surged forward to close the gap between them, moaning into the kiss. Dean had never been kissed before and he floundered for a moment. Emmanuel was patient and guided him through it. They started slow and chaste, but quickly moved on to wet and desperate.

“May I—?”

“Whatever you want,” Dean said between kisses. “I’m yours.”

Their foreheads rested together as Dean spread his legs and pulled Emmanuel to lie between them. Their tunics were lost and then their hands were exploring each other’s chests, their abdomens, their arms, everything within reach. Despite the past few nights, Dean couldn’t bring himself to venture below Emmanuel’s waist. He focused on rolling his thumb over Emmanuel’s nipples, tracing his collarbones, circling around to knead at his shoulder blades, and then—

“Ohhh,” Emmanuel moaned and jerked into Dean’s touch.

Wings. Emmanuel had wings. He held a handful of feathers, soft but strong. That was how he flew, he had massive wings jutting out of his back. _That_ was why Dean could never see when Emmanuel was here; the wings spread out to block what little light filtered through the windows and balcony.

Dean shuddered at the realization. How _big_ must they be to do that?

“Please,” Emmanuel whimpered. “Keep going…”

“You like that?” Dean teased as he continued to pet along the fluffy plumage. It felt incredible, unlike anything he’d ever touched. His hands slid along the lengths, and Emmanuel all but collapsed on him.

“Very much,” he grit out. “No one’s ever…”

“Hey, it’s okay. You took care of me, I’ll take care of you.” Dean massaged up and down the bones and muscle of the wings, then worked his way along the feathers. He couldn’t reach very much, not by a long shot, but everything he could he gave ample attention to. Within minutes, Emmanuel was a quivering mess above him.

Abruptly, though, Emmanuel grabbed Dean’s hands and pulled them away from his wings. “As much as I enjoy that, things will be over far too soon if you don’t stop.”

Dean chuckled. “You _really_ like that.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But there are other things I like as well. If you don’t object, I’d like to try some of them.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed and nodded despite the dark. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try some other things.”

He couldn’t deny he was nervous. Craving Emmanuel’s cock and actually having it inside him were two completely different things. There were times his _fingers_ felt huge, stretching him beyond what he felt he could take, and a knot was surely twice that. But his body was meant for it, he could do it. Emmanuel would be gentle with him, he had no doubts.

Besides, what was the point of keeping his virtue intact? For suitors he didn’t care for back at some kingdom he’d likely never see again? Shouldn’t he be allowed to have this one thing for himself?

The intrusion he expected didn’t come. Instead, there was nothing but the glorious feeling of Emmanuel’s cock against his, nothing but their pre-release to ease the way as Emmanuel rutted against him. The act was so erotic, so simple yet so pleasurable that Dean could do more than fall back against the bedding and enjoy it.

And then Emmanuel’s fingers started working Dean open, and Dean was so damn glad he’d given in and let himself have this. Somehow Emmanuel managed to keep the rhythm of his hips steady as he coated his hand in Dean’s slick and carefully stretched Dean’s hole.

“Mmm this is nice.” Dean was aroused but not painfully so; not like during his heat when every nerve-ending _demanded_ attention and release. His desire was there, but under control, and he reveled in the thrill of being able this intimate with Emmanuel.

“You’re beautiful, Dean.”

“You can’t see me,” Dean protested weakly. “You’ve never seen me.”

“Of course I can see you.” Emmanuel sounded confused more than anything else. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you.”

“‘Cuz it’s dark…?”

That earned him a chuckle. “I assure you, I can see just fine. And you’re breathtaking. The most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my life.”

Dean froze. He should probably be more concerned about the fact that Emmanuel could see in the dark and had been able to this whole time, but he could only focus on one word.

Beautiful.

“Don't. Don’t call me that.” _Don't ruin this by being like every other suitor who pretended to care._

“But you are.” Emmanuel leaned down to kiss his nose, and Dean tried to pull away. “You misunderstand me... Your features are very pleasing, but your soul is stunning. There's so much goodness in you, such devotion to your people and family. So much love and caring... It's beautiful.”

Well, certainly none of his suitors had ever said _that_ to him before.

“You’re lying,” Dean said. It was far easier to deflect than to think anything Emmanuel was saying could be true. “It’s one thing to see in the dark, but you can't see my—my _soul.”_

“Oh but I can.” This time when Emmanuel stole a kiss, Dean allowed it. “Your soul is blinding to look at. It's the most brilliant I've ever seen. Gods, men, beasts… none of them are anything to you. Your soul’s so radiant it outshines the sun...”

This time, it was Dean who kissed Emmanuel if to do no more than shut him up. Dean has never been comfortable with compliments; they reeked of disingenuous people trying to ingratiate themselves into Dean’s favor. He’d learned to ignore them and to be wary of those who showered him with praise.

The real problem was he knew Emmanuel believed every word he said.

“That’s sweet but it’s not like you have to write me a sonnet or anything…”

“Good. I’m terrible at sonnets. I have a cousin who’s skilled at limericks, perhaps I could ask him for help—”

“Oh please _don’t_ !” Again, Dean found himself chuckling at how surprisingly adorable Emmanuel was. “Actually on second thought, _do_ . Hearing _you_ recite a limerick is a chance I can’t pass up— _hey!_ That’s not fair.”

His laughter broke into a whimper as Emmanuel crooked his fingers and dragged the tips against Dean’s prostate.

“You shouldn’t tease me,” Emmanuel scolded. “Not when I can do _this—_ ” Dean yelped as he did it again. “—or _this_.” Now he pushed a fourth finger in and fucked him hard a few times before withdrawing completely. Dean gasped at the loss and tried to reach for Emmanuel, only to have his hands firmly pinned above his head.

“No no no,” Dean whined as he tried to wiggle closer to Emmanuel’s hand. “Please don’t stop…”

“It’s okay, omega.” Lips kissed a trail along his neck as something blunt pressed against Dean’s hole. It was far too big to be Emmanuel’s fingers and Dean choked on a moan. All playfulness gone, Emmanuel was extremely earnest as he asked, “Are you ready?”

He clenched his eyes shut to brace himself, then forced himself to open them and look Emmanuel (hopefully) in the eye as he nodded. “Yes.”

As Emmanuel slowly pushed in, stretching Dean more than he’d ever been stretched (though not as much as he’d feared), he kissed every inch of skin he could reach. His hands rubbed soothing circles along Dean’s thighs, his feathers ghosted along Dean’s legs, his mouth sucked bruises onto his neck, and all of it was a wonderful distraction. Dean couldn’t ignore the gradual way Emmanuel filled him, but he didn’t agonize over each inch; instead he found himself enjoying knowing that Emmanuel was so _close_ to him.

Finally, Emmanuel’s hips were flush with his ass and they stayed there a moment to adjust.

“Are you alright?” Emmanuel asked with a shaky voice.

“I’ll be fine.” It was strange, there was no point denying that, and there was some burn that his slick was working to ease, but more than anything else, it was _good_. Experimentally, he squeezed around Emmanuel’s cock and he almost collapsed on top of Dean. “You holding up?”

“I’ll be fine.” It didn’t quite sound as convincing as when Dean had said it; Emmanuel’s entire body trembled, but here he was, asking if _Dean_ was okay.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Emmanuel answered too quickly. “I just… I’ve never… You feel so wonderful…”

Goosebumps rose along Dean’s arms. Had Emmanuel never been with anyone else, either?

“Hey…” Dean cradled Emmanuel’s head between his hands and held him close. And because he wasn’t completely merciful, he pulled him even closer with his legs and squeezed. “It’s okay. We’re in this together.”

They lay there together for countless minutes until Emmanuel pulled out just a little and thrust back in. He kept going, building up to a steady rhythm that had him rocking harder and harder into Dean.

“So beautiful… beautiful, lovely, sweet omega…”

“Silly alpha, getting sentimental…” Dean’s bravado was all fake; he was just as lost as Emmanuel was. “You gonna knot me or what?”

Encouraged, Emmanuel moved faster, his thrusts rocking the bed against the wall. Words were forgotten, frantic kisses and breathy moans the only language they needed. Emmanuel’s knot grew until it caught, impossibly big and forcing him to grind into Dean rather than thrust. It wasn’t quite as satisfying, but a hand on Dean’s cock more than made up for it.

“Dean… Dean Dean Dean,” Emmanuel chanted up until the very second he came, hot come spilling into Dean. It was enough to wring an orgasm out of Dean, his own come covering his chest and pooling at his navel. As his muscles contracted, it triggered another warm gush of come to be released inside of him; Emmanuel jerked at the second orgasm before burying his face in Dean’s hair. Dean wrapped his arms around him and muttered wordless praise and comfort.

The last of their shared euphoria started to fade. Dean waited for the gravity of what had happened to settle in and make him panic. By the time he’d caught his breath and Emmanuel’s knot had started to go down, he hadn’t felt it yet. There was no regret or doubts playing at his fears; there was nothing but joy thrumming through his veins.

This right here, whatever he and Emmanuel had growing between them, was everything.

“You my husband, Emmanuel?” Dean asked that same question from that first night ages ago. There was no accusation this time, only curiosity and hope.

“If you’d like me to be.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I want it. I want _you_.”

“Then you have me.” Emmanuel kissed his lips, then worked his way down his jaw, his neck, all the way to his shoulders as he spoke. “I'll swear by anything you wish, but I'm yours, Dean. I've sought to do nothing but protect you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Any vow I can make to show you that, I'll make it.”

Dean sighed as contentment washed over him. “I’m not picky. The usual marriage ones will do. Swear on Castiel and Nao—”

A hand clamped over his mouth. “Don't say their names,” Emmanuel pleaded. “Your safety comes first. But I swear on all the gods, on the sun and the moon, on everything I hold dear, I will not fail you as your husband.”

Only after Dean had nodded did Emmanuel let him go. “Guess that’ll have to do. You’re lucky I ain’t the religious type, or I’d be very upset. But honestly, I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I’ve invoked Cast—the God of Love _twice_ now and he hasn’t appeared. Don’t you think he’d have shown up by now if he cared?”

“Perhaps… but I’m not willing to take any chances. The fewer gods who know you’re here, the better.”

Emmanuel sounded so uncomfortable that _Dean_ felt anxious. He even held his breath for a moment, wondering if the God of Love actually _would_ appear and demand Emmanuel hand Dean over to whatever goddess wanted him.

“Suppose we’re lucky the God of Love isn’t interested in me then, right?”

A noncommittal grunt was all the answer he got.

“Good night, Emmanuel.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean fell asleep in the warm embrace of his husband, nestled between the blankets and a bed of feathers.


	6. The Lonely Prince

**** Every night for the next week, the pattern was the same. 

As soon as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the mountain ridge, Emmanuel was there. They would lose themselves in the frenzy of sweaty, needy sex. Dean would instinctively bare his neck, letting his desire to be officially mated take hold; though Emmanuel would often trace his teeth over Dean’s pulse point, he never bit down hard enough to draw blood. 

Only once they were knotted together did they relax enough to be able to snuggle together, sharing chaste kisses and tender caresses as they talked. It was infinitely nicer to whisper secrets to each other in the darkness than it had been to do so from opposite ends of the bed. Dean gradually coaxed more details about Emmanuel’s life from him. Even if Emmanuel carefully guarded the names of his family and friends, as well as the specifics of his work, there were stories of his childhood that made Dean’s chest flutter with joy.

But no matter how happy Dean was at night with his husband there to keep him company, Emmanuel never stayed til dawn. Dean found his daylight hours even lonelier when he woke up alone in bed. It reminded him too much how isolated he was, cut off from the world. It wasn’t simply that he lacked companionship; he lacked  _ news _ . He had no idea how Winchester fared or if his sacrifice had actually  _ helped _ . 

He often wondered how his brothers and stepmother were dealing with the burden of ruling without him. They likely thought him dead or the captive of a monster. He wanted to let them know he was okay and not to worry. More often than he’d like, he spent hours of the day staring wistfully at the mountain walls.

No matter how much he enjoyed his time with Emmanuel, there was nothing that could replace the melancholy feeling that followed him during the day.

“Are you alright?” Emmanuel asked as he nipped the back of Dean’s neck. He’d fucked into Dean from behind and was now wrapped around him, keeping him nice and warm. “You seem distant.”

“It’s nothing.” 

“... Dean.” 

There was so much pain and wistfulness as he said that one syllable, Dean cracked right then and there.

“I’m lonely. I miss my family, and it bothers me that I can’t tell them I’m okay. I went up planning on killing you, and now I haven’t returned for months. They’re probably worried sick, probably tried to climb this damn mountain but got stuck at the same rockslide I did, and all it would take to put them at ease is a simple message from me explaining what’s happened.”

Once he started, the words poured out of him. Weeks upon weeks of agonizing could no longer be held in.

“I see.” Emmanuel’s tone was unreadable, the moreso because Dean couldn’t  _ see _ him.

Silence drew out and Dean grew worried. 

“If I could arrange for your brothers to visit you, would that make you feel better?”

Dean gasped and attempted to turn around to kiss Emmanuel, only to remember they would be stuck together for another half hour at least. Instead, he grabbed Emmanuel’s hand and kissed it. “Yes. That would be awesome.”

“Then I’ll figure out a way to make it work.”

True to his word, Emmanuel asked Dean to write a letter to his brothers inviting him to the summit. The same winds that had brought Dean would carry them up, they’d be allowed to stay a few days, and then the winds would carry them home.

“But Dean,” he warned, “the same rules that apply to you apply to them as well. They mustn’t invoke the gods while they’re here, and they must keep this place a secret when they return. They can tell your stepmother but no one else; secrecy is all that protects you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let them know.” 

_ They won’t believe me but I’ll convince them. I have to. _

“Good. But to make things easier, I won’t be visiting you while they’re here. You should have time with your brothers… and if they’re half as stubborn as you are, I worry they might be tempted to spy on my true form if I’m around.”

Dean grumbled an answer. Emmanuel was right—Sam especially would be hard to keep in check, though it’d probably be easy to scare Adam into submission—but Dean didn’t have to like having an empty bed to himself.

Strange how easily he got used to sleeping with someone else there.

The morning his brothers are set to arrive, Dean sprung out of bed. Emmanuel had set up a tent in the gardens for the brothers to all sleep in, three chaise lounges set around a fire pit, and Dean spent a good deal of time making sure it was ready. He brought out food, books, clothes, anything he thought his brothers might want over the next few days. It didn’t help very much, but at least it gave a physical outlet for his manic energy. 

He had no idea  _ when _ they’d show up. There was nothing more he could do to prepare, but anticipation had him rushing back and forth across the villa trying to settle his nerves. 

Finally, as the sun climbed to its peak, he heard a familiar pair of voices calling for him.

“Dean?  _ Dean _ !”

“Sam! Adam!”

The brothers ran to each other across the entry of the villa, only to have Sam grab Dean in a strangle hold. 

“Sam, what the  _ hell _ —”

While he wrestled against his brother’s grasp, Adam stepped forward and cut Dean’s arm with a knife, then threw salt and water in his face. 

“Seriously,  _ what the hell are you doing? _ ” he screeched, kicking free and nearly stumbling to the ground. “Ow, by the way!” Dean grumbled as he pressed his hand to the wound on his forearm. It wasn’t deep, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“It’s really you… I thought it was a trap or some sort of trick, but it’s actually  _ you _ .”

“Yes, Sam. Thank you for that. I’m your older brother who’s missed you both for months, and you respond by  _ attacking _ me in my  _ home _ .”

“Your home?” Adam squeaked. “But Winchester’s your home…”

“Not much of a home if you can’t live there anymore…” Dean sighed and jerked his head over his shoulders. “Follow me. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Adam and Sam went first, at Dean’s insistence. They assured him that Winchester had indeed recovered from most of its problems. The famines had ended, the droughts were gone, and the fires and other disasters had ceased to run rampant. The only issues were with the line of succession; other kingdoms were upset that Dean was no longer available to marry and were pushing for one of the other brothers to take over for Kate. Apparently they found it insulting to be dealing with a foreign omega regent if there was no foreign omega prince to woo.

“And a few of the suitors haven’t taken too kindly to your disappearance. Alastair in particular has been a pain. He’s threatened military action if we don’t meet his demands. Personally, I think he’s just blowing hot air, but we can’t just ignore him outright. Even so, we’ve been delaying as long as possible, just in case you came back,” Sam said. “We were about to give in and I was going to take the throne, but then we got your letter. If we can get you back, you could take over. It would probably mean looking at suitors again, but you’d be king.”

Dean saw the way his brothers’ eyes were full of hope and he couldn’t help but look away. “You’ll make a good king, Sammy.”

“But Dean—”

“Hey, you first, then me. Winchester’s fine. You and Adam are fine. Kate and Bobby are fine. All is well and good except for politics… But none of that explains why you  _ attacked me _ when you arrived.”

Sam had the decency to blush. “We were just checking.”

“We found Grandpa Henry’s notes on demon lore,” Adam explained excitedly. “And there are tests to make sure you’re dealing with an actual human instead of someone who’s possessed or is just some sort of replica of the real thing. We did water purified by the goddess—”

“Ah!” Dean interrupted. “I want you guys to keep explaining, but uh, do me a favor and not say  _ any _ names of gods or goddesses while you’re here, if at all possible.”

“... You realize how insane that sounds, right?”

Dean gestured to the villa and the lush, fertile gardens. It was well into winter, the palace back home likely covered in snow, yet here they were in the midst of summer. “Insane’s kind of my daily life now. Please, just do as I ask. I will explain, I promise.”

“Fine,” Sam muttered. “But you are  _ definitely _ going to tell us  _ everything _ .”

“I will.”  _ Minus some select details on how I spend my nights with Emmanuel… Trust me, that’s to save all of us some embarrassment. _ “What are the tests to make sure I’m me?” he prompted Adam to continue.

“Water purified by… the Goddess of Truth.” He frowned at Dean to make sure that was okay, and he smiled when Dean nodded. “Salt, which itself is a purifying agent. And silver, because there are a lot of things that can’t touch pure metals without burning, and silver’s the best one for that.”

Sam patted Adam on the head and winked to let him know he’d done a good job. “Any other questions, or is it our turn to interrogate you?”

“Uh…” Dean scrambled for something else to ask, if only to delay the inevitable. When nothing came to mind, his shoulders slumped. “No, I suppose not. Alright, let’s get this over with…”

He told them as much as he could. Everything, really, minus the sex and his going into heat. The goddess he’d angered, that Emmanuel was here to protect him, and that the two of them had gotten close (though Dean very carefully refrained from using the word ‘husband’ and focused on ‘friend’). Despite his earlier misgivings, he did trust Emmanuel and believed everything he’d been told. 

“Dean…”

“Don’t say it,” Dean pleaded. He hated the pity in Sam’s eyes. “I  _ know _ how it sounds, but I’m serious. I trust Emmanuel, and I—”

“Do you know what they say about this place?” Sam cut in. Dean shook his head, frowning. “There are rumors that a monster lives up here. A dragon with huge wings and a thirst for virgins—” Dean tried very hard not to color when he heard that part. “—that flies here each night and leaves every morning. You need to be careful. He could be bewitching you into believing all these things that simply aren’t true.”

“Emmanuel’s not a dragon,” he scoffed. As if he at all knew  _ what _ Emmanuel was or wasn’t.

“So nothing I’m saying sounds possible?”

“Well… he  _ does _ have wings,” Dean admitted. “And uh… the demon blade with the sigils on it? I stabbed him with it the first night here… It didn’t work. Didn’t even injure him…”

Adam gasped and even Sam looked horrified. “Dean, this is serious. We have to get you out of here. I don’t know how, but we will. When we get back home, we’ll go back to the oracle and try to get help, okay? We won’t leave you up here.”

“Sammy—”

Sam ignored him and kept going. “But you need to do something while you’re here. The demon blade doesn’t work? Fine. But you need to find out  _ what _ your husband is so we can figure out how to kill him and free you.”

“Kill him?” Dean shouted. “You’re not killing him!”

“Not killing—Why the hell  _ not _ , Dean? He’s a monster that’s keeping you prisoner. What about that sounds okay?”

“I understand that he’s not human,” Dean grit out, “and that I can’t leave here, but I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to  _ hurt _ him. I  _ care _ about him, and he’s keeping me safe. Why the fuck would I want to do anything to ruin that?”

Adam shrunk back at Dean and Sam’s unexpected anger, their staring match making him wiggle uncomfortably on his seat. With a sigh, Sam gave in first.

“Okay, then don’t kill him. You know him better than we do, and you would know if he’s a threat. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to protect yourself just in case. You need to know  _ what _ Emmanuel is, which means you need to take a look at him.” 

“I told you the rules—”

“Fuck the rules,” Sam insisted. “Unless seeing him would cause your eyes to melt out of your head or something, you have a right to know what’s keeping you here. You need to actually  _ look _ at him. See if he really is a dragon or if he’s something else entirely.”

“He only comes at night though,” Dean hedged. Emmanuel only asked three things of him, and this was one of them. How could he break Emmanuel’s trust like this.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave his brother a withering look. “It’s called a candle, Dean. Heard of them?”

Dean sat there silently, looking at his hands and willing this conversation to end.

“We’re worried about you,” Sam said. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. And if you genuinely don’t want to leave, there’s really nothing we can do about that. But I’m  _ begging _ you, do this one thing to try and protect yourself. I don’t want this to be the last time I ever see you because you were stubbornly trying to follow a monster’s rules. Monsters don’t play by rules, so maybe you shouldn’t play by  _ his _ .”

Between Sam’s constant nagging and Adam’s puppy dog eyes, it was only ever a matter of time before Dean gave in. 

“Okay,” he whispered, a tear falling down his cheek. “I’ll do it.”

\- - - -

Though it pained him to do so, Castiel forced himself to leave the villa behind for a few days. Dean deserved time with his family; Castiel owed him so much more, but for now he would have to settle for offering the brothers some privacy as they reconnected. No matter how much he missed his mate

_ No _ , he chastised himself.  _ He’s not your mate. You mustn’t think of him that way. A husband is one thing, temporary even by human standards; mates are forever. You can’t allow yourself to take that from him. Someday Mother’s ire might no longer keep Dean trapped on Mount Pontiac. He could return home, find himself a human mate who never had to deceive him or keep him prisoner.  _

_ Don’t be selfish, Castiel. _

_ Even if he’s everything to you, it’s unfair to him. _

He hated leaving Dean even for such a short time, but he’d manage.

Although his nights usually belonged to Dean, Castiel forced himself to stay away. Now that he had extra time on his hands, Castiel returned to completing his duties full time. A god’s work was never done, at least not if that god answered prayers and was diligent about answering them. Love in particular was sought after, and Castiel was always busy. His mother and the other gods would send him requests, and there were endless pleas from humans and other creatures for his help.

Have X fall in love with Y. 

Have X fall out of love with Y.

Have X fall  _ back _ in love with Y.

On and on it went in an endless cycle. The world was full of love, and yet everyone wanted more of it. Admittedly, now that Castiel had found love for himself, he had a better understanding of the requests he received. Love was intoxicating, the best and worst of gifts, and he tried to be more careful with the power he’d so casually wielded for centuries now. 

Because of his own foray into love, Castiel was behind in working. Each morning it had become harder to leave Dean behind, and only the need to keep Dean unaware of who he really was could make him leave. Maybe over the next few days, he’d be able to catch up on everything he’d neglected every since he and Dean started having sex.

It was easy to work himself to the bone as a means of distracting himself. He didn’t bother to rest and he certainly avoiding Heaven. His mother had always been tiring to deal with at the best of times, but now Castiel found it even more so. She didn’t like his  mate husband, and whenever she delightfully bragged about how Dean was now married to some ghoulish monster, his alpha instincts flared. His blood boiled as his mind raged with a singular thought:  _ Fight! Protect!  _ **_My_ ** _ omega! _

The last thing he needed was to act on those instincts. If his mother ever found out that Dean was not only safe but married to  _ him _ … 

Well, he would simply make sure that never happened. 

Part of that meant avoiding the other gods and goddesses in Heaven. None of them were particularly malevolent on their own, but his family was always looking for leverage on each other. It’d take no more than a keen eye to realize Castiel wasn’t quite his usual, cold self, and then it’d simply be a matter of figuring out  _ why _ .

The only exception, as always, was Balthazar.

Balthazar was God of the Winds and couldn’t care less about Heaven’s politics. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and no one much cared about  _ him _ either. Or rather, they typically  _ forgot _ about him; invisibility was a handy trick for a god, and Balthazar spent most of his time unseen by all. 

He and Balthazar had been friends since Castiel could remember. Naomi kept him on a short leash, but Balthazar of course could come and go as he pleased. Naomi couldn’t shoo him away if she couldn’t ever see that he was there. Besides, it pleased him to no end to flout Naomi’s wishes; visiting Castiel was merely an added bonus. 

It was partly his desire to see his cousin that brought him back to Heaven. Castiel waited patiently in his room, knowing full well the wind god would show up sooner or later. True to form, he had to wait no more than an hour before the wind god appeared at his window.

“Cassie, funny seeing you here. I stop by every day as I make my rounds, and yet you’ve been keeping well away from home sweet home.”

“Hello, Balthazar. Good to see you.”

Balthazar dismissed his well wishes with a wave. “Don’t bother with smalltalk. Go ahead and ask your questions so I can ask mine.”

“I don’t have any questions—” Balthazar looked about ready to hit him, so Castiel shook his head and conceded. “How are Dean’s brothers? Did you manage to get them to the villa safely?”

“Did I manage—? Cassie, darling, that’d be insulting if I knew you weren’t just being  _ you _ . Of  _ course _ they got there fine. And  _ of course _ they’ll get home safely. They’re not as bloody heavy as they look, I am a god after all.”

“You didn’t scare them too badly, did you?”

“I think the younger one actually liked it. The bigger one was all serious. Probably thought I was helping him on some grand rescue mission instead of a glorified slumber party. I didn’t stay long, so don’t bother asking me about your lover boy. I didn’t see him at all.”

Castiel most certainly did  _ not _ pout when he heard that. “Thank you, Balthazar. I owe you.”

“Uh, you owe me  _ three _ now. One for bringing Dean-o, the second for the brothers’ trip, and the third one will come when I take the brothers back home.”

“Very well. I owe you  _ three _ favors. Which I will allow you to cash in now by asking me your questions.”

Balthazar looked positively scandalized. “I will cash in  _ one _ favor to ask the questions. You still owe me two, and I’m not re-negotiating that.” He waited for Castiel’s nod before he broke out into a wide grin. “So tell me about that pretty boy you’ve got trapped up there. Have you had your way with him yet?”

“Don’t be crude.”

“I’m cashing in a hard earned favor—”

“You said they weren’t that heavy.”

“A  _ hard earned favor _ , and I want details. Tell me  _ something _ , for Chuck’s sake.”

“You know why I have Dean there. It was always my intention to keep him safe from my mother, but lately…” Castiel took a deep breath. If he imagined it, he could almost smell Dean there with him: the smell of fire in a hearth, bread baking and fresh flowers in the courtyard, a gentle breeze through the curtains and a library full of books. Simply put, Dean smelt like home. “Lately we’ve gotten closer. We’re friends, more even, and I… I just…”

He couldn’t put into words, not without betraying the depths of his feelings for Dean. 

Dean, the young prince who’d stolen his heart.

“Wow,” Balthazar whistled. “You’ve got it bad. What’s your endgame here, by the way? You plan on keeping your boy locked up on a mountain for the rest of his life?”

“Ideally, no.”

“Your mother’s not going to give up on this, you know that. You’ll have to keep him there until…” Balthazar frowned. “Cassie, you do realize he’s mortal, right? He’s going to grow old and die someday. What are you going to do when your bloody  _ mate _ dies? You took it badly enough when—” He cut himself off and backtracked. “You need to be careful here. I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

“He’s not my mate,” Castiel said weakly. For months now, Castiel had been living in the present. Keep Dean safe  _ now _ was his primary objective, followed closely by finding a way to return Dean to his life, and those considerations hadn’t allowed much room for thoughts about tomorrow or the day after. The thought of years, of  _ decades _ from now was irrelevant. 

… But Balthazar was right. He would lose Dean, eventually. Whether to Naomi or to Winchester or to time, Dean would be snatched away from him. Could he handle that?

“Not yet he isn’t,” Balthazar said not unkindly. “But you love him, don’t you?”

“He’s not mine to love…”

“I think  _ he _ gets to decide that one. And if you don’t know what he thinks about it, you could always just, you know,  _ ask _ him.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“It  _ could _ be though.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of approaching footsteps hushed them both. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, before Balthazar vanished into thin air. Only a light breeze gave any indication that the wind god might be present, and it was surprising how quickly their family dismissed the wind.

“Castiel?” Naomi called as she entered his bed chambers. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for days now.”

“Working.”

Naomi smiled and sat down on the edge of his bed. If she noticed the bed was pristine, clearly unslept in for some time, she said nothing about it. “I’ve always admired your dedication to your work. Let’s have a chat, shall we? See how things are going?”

It was a routine of theirs. Although Naomi didn’t strictly have any control over Castiel’s job as the God of Love, she was very  _ interested _ in his work. She always had a list of people, usually those who she felt needed punishing but occasionally those she adored and felt should be rewarded. Castiel didn’t  _ have _ to answer her questions or help her, but she was his mother. Obeying her had been ingrained into him at such a young age, it was second nature by now.

“Make sure a wealthy king falls in love with Lady Bela. She’s been a favorite of mine ever since she offered me a whole tower of gold in exchange for her beauty. So long as you help her seduce old men into her bed, she’ll keep the tribute coming.”

Castel grunted in acknowledgement. His mother always was generous to those who pleased her. It didn’t bother Castiel to help those few humans who managed to do it—they deserved  _ something _ for having done what so few had been able to, getting his mother on their side—but it was particularly aggravating now. Because to those who displeased her…

“I haven’t heard much about Dean of Winchester lately,” she said, enunciating each word. “Is he still in the hands of an ugly monster, learning the humility he so desperately needs?”

“... Yes.” 

Castiel is a terrible liar at the best of times (he could even hear the faint sound of Balthazar chuckling at his answer), but Naomi was good and well accustomed to Castiel doing her bidding. The idea of him lying was so foreign to her, she missed the obvious tells.

“Good.” She beamed at him and went on about other plans she had for him. He barely paid attention, distracting himself with thoughts of Dean and wondering what he was up to, and eventually Naomi noticed.

“Castiel are you even listening?” She huffed dramatically and shook her head. “You’ve been acting so strangely lately. Perhaps you should take a break from your duties.  _ After _ you’ve finished with this list. Start by checking in on Dean. Make sure he’s nice and miserable.”

Dean wasn’t the first time he’d intervened on behalf of those unfortunate enough to anger his mother. He couldn’t do much without her finding out, but he used his powers to ease their suffering. Most recently, there’d been a young man named Garth who’d made an offhand comment about a young child being ‘pretty as can be.’ It was a completely innocent thing to say, but he’d said it in a Temple of Naomi, and she’d heard every word of it. 

One of the other gods had been bribed to inflict the poor man with an awful condition where he turned into a wolf during the full moon. Castiel could do nothing about that, but he was at least able to give him solace in the love of a beautiful young woman named Bess. They’d been able to start a pack together, roaming the woods and perfectly happy despite their affliction.

And he’s always wondered what happened to Daphne…

The point remained: he would have to be extra vigilant to make sure his mother never found out what he’d done to save Dean.

“Yes, mother.”


	7. The Lover's Betrayal

****After Dean had agreed to be more active in finding out what Emmanuel was, the brothers were able to relax and simply enjoy each other’s company.

Mostly. Dean’s nerves were wound tight. He was never quite able to forget what he’d agreed to do, nor put out of his mind how much he missed Emmanuel. Guilt ate at him, but he put on a brave face for his brothers.

Their visit ended after the third day. The three brothers stood together at the villa’s entrance, and though Dean had never been one to _say_ what he felt so acutely in his heart, he couldn’t keep himself from sharing a heartfelt goodbye. Dean hugged each of his brothers in turn, whispered in their ears how much he loved them and how he hoped to see them again soon, and then was forced to watch as the wind whisked them away.

He moped around the library and gardens for the last few hours of daylight. Sam and Adam leaving was devastating to his morale; even the prospect of seeing Emmanuel again couldn’t lift his spirits. He’d missed his husband dearly, for more than he’d expected, but now the prospect of his return had Dean’s stomach tied in knots. He longed for and dread nothing more than being in Emmanuel’s arms again.

An owl hooted outside the library window, a warning of the late hour, and Dean quickly checked to make sure everything was ready. The candles were hidden under the bed, hot coals and matches were ready to light the wick, and the demon blade, no matter how useless it might be, was still under his pillow. He was ready.

“Dean?” a voice called from the balcony.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. His legs quivered. Slick began to leak from his hole and his cock stirred between his legs.

He was in no way ready.

“Emmanuel,” he breathed out as he collapsed onto the bed. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Soft steps signaled his approach.

Now that Dean knew what to look for, he caught faint glimpses of moonlight through the thinner feathers of Emmanuel’s wings. It let him track his movement as he approached the bed, heightened his excitement as his husband crawled towards him.

“How are your brothers—?”

“Less talking, more kissing,” Dean growled as he reached forward. His left hand missed Emmanuel completely, but the other grabbed a hold of his tunic; he buried his hand in the material and yanked him forward. Their lips bumped together, a little off center, so they broke apart to adjust.

And then it was chaos.

Hands and mouths were everywhere. Each touch ignited a fire inside of Dean and he oh so wanted to succumb to it. He barely kept enough of his wits about him. As much as he wanted Emmanuel inside of him, he couldn’t afford to be knotted. Not if he had any hope of following through with his plan.

 _Do I?_ he wondered, not for the first time. _Maybe I shouldn’t…_

 _No. I promised Sam. I promised Adam. I promised myself. I won’t hurt Emmanuel, but I_ **_have_ ** _to know._

Now that the idea was in his head, Dean was far too curious to let it go. The longer he put it off, the more anxious he’d get about it. It was better to get it over with.

“Lie on your stomach,” Dean ordered as soon as his mouth was free. He expected Emmanuel to protest, alpha pride not letting him take orders from an omega, but he obediently did as he was told.

_It’s because he trusts you._

**_Shut up_** _._ _If he trusts me, then he won’t mind me knowing what he really is._

Dean shifted to get around his feathers and then straddled Emmanuel’s back. It was an easy matter to untie the tunic and get free rein of Emmanuel’s wings. Though he’d never seen more than their silhouette, Dean had spent many nights running his hands through them and learning every inch of them.

Carefully adjusting his own position so that his clothed cock ran along Emmanuel’s bare crack, Dean leaned down to nip at Emmanuel’s ear.

“I’m going to make you come,” he whispered, punctuating each word with a thrust, “with just my hands on your wings.”

Emmanuel whined pathetically as he humped the bed. Dean considered scolding him—using the mattress for friction was technically more stimulation than Dean wanted him to have—but found his husband’s eagerness too arousing to temper.

He started by massaging Emmanuel’s back right between his wings. The muscles were tense but gradually relaxed. It didn’t stop Emmanuel from occasionally thrusting into the bed, and Dean reveled in the control he had over Emmanuel’s pleasure. If he pushed a little harder, he would buck and moan; if he was gentle, he’d sigh happily and grind lazily against the sheets.

His brothers had done a good job planting all these fantasies of a horrible monster that lurked in the shadows, but Emmanuel felt so damn _human_ . If it weren’t for his wings, Dean would have no reason to suspect he _wasn’t_. There was no way he was a dragon, no matter what stories Sam had heard, and even Dean’s own theory that he was a shapeshifter seemed hard to support.

Dean didn’t know any creatures like him, with feathery wings and a human body. Maybe he was some rare type of male harpy, but if such a thing existed, it likely wouldn’t be powerful enough to keep Dean protected from an angry goddess.

 _What_ **_are_ ** _you?_

He supposed he’d found out soon enough.

After thoroughly working over the human parts of Emmanuel’s back, Dean moved on to the feathers. They puffed up at the contact; Emmanuel didn’t make a sound, but the way he twitched gave away how affected he was. Smiling, Dean gave his full attention to bringing Emmanuel to the edge of ecstasy and holding him there.

The slow start helped Dean expertly guide Emmanuel to a whimpering, writhing mess. In the end, he begged for Dean to hold his wings down and grind against him, only coming after he felt Dean’s hot come leaking onto his ass.

Emmanuel hadn’t even fucked him and yet it was still one of the most erotic couplings they’d had.

Dean cleaned them both up. Emmanuel was practically a dead weight, mumbling endearments that were adorable nonsensical as he quickly fell asleep. Once things had the semblance of being clean, Dean got in the bed and curled around Emmanuel. His wings occasionally twitched or flicked across Dean’s skin, as obvious an embrace as if they were fingers.

He waited patiently, pretended to be asleep until Emmanuel’s breathing became rhythmic and deep, his wings completely slack. Even then, Dean stayed until he was _absolutely_ sure. He was determined to take a look at Emmanuel, but if he did it right, Emmanuel would never have to know.

The bedroom wasn’t completely blanketed in darkness if Dean was outside of the bed, the moons and stars not getting lost in Emmanuel’s wings, and Dean used the faint light to navigate the room. He slipped away from his husband and got out a candle. The coals and matches were hidden across the room.

His hands shook so badly he dropped the match. How was it his hand hadn’t wavered at all when he’d _stabbed_ Emmanuel, yet the prospect of _seeing_ him had him trembling?

 _Because you didn’t_ **_know_ ** _him then._

 _Now you know him, care for him,_ **_love_ ** _him, and you’re betraying his trust._

_How can you even wonder why?_

It was a hell of a lot less scary to light the candle than it was to think about the fact that he might very well _love_ the man he’d been living with.

Dean waited until the flame was steady. It cast a pale circle of light around him, bringing to life all the details he knew from the day but were lost to obscurity at night. The familiar paintings on the wall, the potted flowers by the balcony, the chest stuffed full of discarded gifts…

The bed, with the ends of the blue blanket touching the floor. A body cast in shadow, coming into clarity with each step Dean took forward. The powdery white wings, so reminiscent of a dove, sprawled across the bed. And a man, with tan skin and messy dark hair.

Two more steps and Dean could finally make out the man’s face…

Wow.

Dean had heard all his life that he was beautiful. He’d never truly believed it, not really, but he remembered all the compliments paid to him. The words hadn’t made much sense—how can cheekbones or a jawline be beautiful? or how could lips look kissable? they were just words used to enchant and flatter—but now Dean understood every single one of them.

The man in his bed was the most beautiful being Dean had ever seen. Divinely so, features sculpted as if by a master craftsman and made specifically to stun anyone who saw them.

Literally divine, actually.

Dean had never exactly been pious. His mother’s claims that gods were watching over him had gone mostly unheard. While there was truth in that—the gods were real and were potentially anywhere—they didn’t often bother themselves with mortals. But a prince can’t ignore piety, not completely. He’d spent a lot of time at the palace temple throughout his life, mostly for festivals and occasionally to offer sacrifice and prayers.

He knew all the faces of the gods. Charles, King of the Gods, always absent but still feared and revered by god and man alike. Crowley, Demon King of the Underworld. Abaddon, Demon Queen of War. Naomi, Goddess of Beauty.

… And her son Castiel, God of Love.

Dean had always thought Castiel was a rather handsome god, assuming the statues were in any way accurate, but it made sense. God of Love and all, son of the Goddess of Beauty, of course he’d be attractive. And now here he was, in Dean’s bed.

In _their_ bed.

Holy shit. He was married to the God of Love. _He was married to a god!_

Captivated, he leaned forward to get a better look. The statues really didn’t do him justice. They were cold, lifeless replicas of the man before him, so utterly _alive_ and full of warmth. The ends of his hair curled at the nape of his neck and across his brow, begging for Dean to card his hand through them. His lips parted on every inhale, and all Dean could think was that he wanted to kiss them. Everything he saw demanded his attention and touch. He could spend hours looking at him and not have his fill.

Dean was so transfixed by Emmanuel, by _Castiel,_ that he stopped paying attention to the candle. He didn’t notice the hot wax dripping over his hand and onto Castiel. The first few drops landed on Castiel’s left shoulder, searing into him like a brand. He frowned and his lashes fluttered, another drop fell and his eyes flew open.

Their eyes met (and goddamn _those eyes)_ and they both jerked apart. In his shock, Dean dropped the candle and the light went out. He could hear rather than see Castiel jumping off the bed and fleeing out the window.

Too slow, Dean got to his feet and ran after him. He stood on the balcony, watching as Castiel took flight and disappeared amongst the clouds.

“Emmanuel!” Dean shouted. “Castiel! _Come back!_ ”

He yelled until his voice was hoarse. He yelled until sunlight was peeking over the ridges. He yelled until his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the hard stone.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and Dean let himself sob. He made himself the full weight of what he’d done, of his betrayal.

He’d ruined everything.

\- - - -

Castiel was a coward. He knew that, had always known it, but he’d never felt it as acutely as when he fled Dean.

As he flew back to Heaven, his thoughts spiraled out of control.

Of course he was hurt by Dean’s betrayal. He’d asked but _three things_ of him, and Dean had now proven he couldn’t be trusted.

It wasn’t as if Castiel _wanted_ things to be as they were. Deceiving Dean, trapping him on the mountain, he detested the part he was playing in ruining Dean’s life. It was truly for Dean’s protection, the only way he could shield Dean from his mother’s wrath; if he could keep her distracted and Dean out of sight, he’d be safe from her unfair grudge against him.

The more Dean knew, the more likely it would be for word to get to Naomi. If his brothers, for example, were to find out it was Castiel holding Dean, their whispered conversations would likely travel to Naomi. And should Naomi ever find out about Dean…

But in truth, Castiel’s anger at Dean would be short lived. He could already feel it leaving him. He loved Dean too much to stay angry at him.

And if anger were the only thing that had made Castiel run from his husband, he would already be on his way back to Dean. His own emotions Castiel knew all too well, his own weakness for the human prince beyond his ability to fight.

It was Dean’s emotions that worried him.

Dean had grown to care for him. The burn on Castiel’s shoulder attested to that. It was already scarring, the first scar Castiel would ever have. The stab wound Dean had inflicted on him had barely tickled, and it had sealed the moment the blade had been pulled out. If Dean were to stab him now, it would likely kill him—

 _No it wouldn’t,_ he corrected himself.

_There’s no way Dean will still care about you now that he knows who you are. He’ll figure out that it’s your mother who hates him. He’ll see the ruined tatters of his life. He won’t be able to look at you again without seeing Naomi._

_Mortals don’t fall in love with gods._

_And that’s why gods shouldn’t fall in love with mortals…_

He collapsed onto his bed, far less comfortable than the one at his villa (though he suspected the company rather than the bed itself was to blame for that), and tried not to think of anything.

As always, his mind betrayed him, and conjured up image after image of Dean.

Dean was by no means old, not even by human standards, but he still appeared younger than his age. Youthful vitality shown from every one of his lovely features and enchanted Castiel more and more each day. His soul was like a beacon that called to Castiel, that sought to wrap itself around Castiel’s divinity and join them forever.

And now Dean would hate him.

Behind closed eyes, he saw Dean snarling at Castiel to stay away from him.

_“Your mother’s the one who did this to me? And you won’t even stand up to her? You just let it happen? I thought you lo—you know what, forget it. Obviously I was wrong. Don’t come back here, okay? We’re done.”_

He whined pitifully into his pillow.

“Castiel? Are you alright?”

He turned to look over his shoulder. His mother stood in the doorway, concern evident on her normally impassive face.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. Some of his bitterness must have shown through, because she came into the room and sat at the edge of his bed.

Naomi didn't know what had drawn her to Castiel’s room this morning, but it was obvious her son needed her. His distress was obvious, and she hummed soothingly as she rubbed his feathers. He bristled slightly but allowed it.

“You can tell me if something’s troubling you,” she cooed. Castiel sullenly ignored her and she sighed. He’d always been stubborn. “Let me help you, Castiel.”

He curled in on himself, the blankets slipping down to reveal his shoulder. An angry red mark marred his otherwise perfect skin, and Naomi held back a gasp of surprise.

Every god and goddess had their own strengths and weaknesses. Castiel’s were completely wrapped up in love. Only those who loved him would ever have the power to hurt him; the more they loved him, the more damage they could do. It was what made him so valuable. No one save her loved him, so he was virtually invulnerable as he flitted about the earth. She could send him anywhere, ask anything of him, and he would come back unscathed.

She’d gone to great lengths to keep Castiel away from the other gods to keep them from growing attached to him. He was only useful if he couldn’t be hurt, yet here he was with a burn on his shoulder. _She_ hadn't hurt him… so who did?

Who loved Castiel?

… What ever happened to that prince she told Castiel to make fall in love with a monster?

Why had Castiel never told her the specifics of what happened to that boy?

Where has Castiel been going to at night?

Fury rose like bile in her throat. That tart had seduced her son with his charms, and now look at what had happened! Castiel was hurt, curled in on himself as he pathetically whimpered. Dean of Winchester had all but _ruined_ her son.

She knew what she had to do. She’d have to save Castiel. It would be hard and it would hurt, but Naomi was going to unburden Castiel of his love for Dean. She’d make sure he was as free as he was before.

“I think I know what’s happened, Castiel,” Naomi said. He tensed up but she squeezed his knee reassuringly. “And I’m going to help. I’m going to make it all better.”

\- - - -

Balthazar hadn’t seen Castiel in two days. That by itself was nothing strange; Castiel traveled far and wide for his work, and Balthazar did the same. There were times they went weeks without running into each other, the moreso now that Castiel was spending his time with Dean. Two days was nothing.

Except he hadn’t seen Castiel since he’d returned Sam and Adam to their people. Castiel doted so much on Dean, he’d want to check in to make sure the brothers were safely returned home. One day wasn’t shocking, but _two_? Something wasn’t right.

He went to Castiel’s rooms in Heaven. They were empty. More troubling than that, they were in disarray; there’d been a struggle, and the number of stray feathers made it likely Castiel had been on the losing end of it.

Balthazar wasn’t the type to worry. It wasn’t in his nature. Things changed, him especially, and if things were bad now all he had to do was wait it out.

This wasn’t something he could wait out.

Naomi was making a lot of noise, claiming her son was busy and unable to fulfill his duties at the moment. Any requests for love magic would go through her, and she’d get them to Castiel when he was available again. As if _that_ didn’t reek of foul play.

Balthazar didn’t buy it for a second. Castiel was in trouble, and he knew all too well who to blame.

As nothing more corporeal than a draft, Balthazar searched Naomi’s section of Heaven. He made a cursory sweep of her throne room and bedroom, but as expected, Castiel was nowhere to be found. As Balthazar delved deeper, into the heart of Naomi’s home, he grew more troubled. The air was dank, the walkways narrow, and there wasn’t a window in sight. This was basically a dungeon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the other gods.

Lucky for Castiel, Balthazar wasn’t like the other gods.

It took hours to comb through the labyrinth of hidden rooms, but eventually he found Castiel. There was a cell hidden almost at the center, rusty bars locked shut. And there, with broken, bloody wings and a black eye, was his missing cousin.

“Cassie, are you alright?”

Castiel didn’t move; he remained slumped in the filth of his cage.

“Cassie…” Balthazar tugged at Castiel’s wing. His friend twitched in his sleep but otherwise didn’t move.” Cassie!” he hissed, pulling his wing more forcefully. “Wake up!”

Instead of waiting for an answer, he slipped through the bars and kneeled next to Castiel. Only two days had passed, and yet he looked thin and weak. Bruises and cuts were everywhere, screaming to the type of treatment he’d been subjected to. Rope burns, brands, cuts… there was no end to it.

“Oh Cassie,” he whispered. “What has she done to you?”

He eased Castiel up and propped him against the stone wall, gently running his hand through his dirt-matted hair and slapping his cheek. “I’m going to need you to wake up. I need you to talk to me, Castiel. I don’t really know what to do about all this…”

Eventually, Castiel blinked his eyes open. He stared at Balthazar unseeingly for a few moments, then frowned and pushed his cousin away.

“Wha—? Where am I—? Balth—?”

“Hey, it’s alright, Cassie. I’m going to get you out of here…” He looked around. There was nothing, no sign of a key and certainly nothing he could use to pick the lock, and there simply wasn’t enough room for him to summon a tornado or whirlwind or _anything_ that might break down the walls. “... Somehow.”

“Get out—?” Castiel’s eyes cleared and he lunged forward to grab at Balthazar’s tunic. “No, forget about me.”

“Cassie—”

“No, listen. My mother… she found out about Dean. She’ll be coming after him, I know she will. I haven’t told her where he is, but…” He winced and turned away in shame. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Balthazar had never seen Castiel look so dejected. Pushing his own wishes aside, he resolved himself to helping Castiel however he needed it. “What would you have me do?”

“I don’t…” He grit his teeth and turned back to Balthazar. He was resolute as he spoke, making it absolutely clear what he wanted. “Go to Dean. Get him somewhere safe. Make sure he has his demon blade. It won’t work against a god, but it might help protect him against whatever my mother sends after him. Please keep him safe, Balthazar. He doesn’t deserve any of this…”

“And you do? You’re a mess. What is she doing to you?”

Castiel’s eyes glazed over. There were untold horrors warring for dominance in his mind, yet he refused to voice them. “It’s nothing.”

“Not to state the obvious, but like bloody hell it’s nothing.” Seeing that Castiel refused to do anything in his own defense, Balthazar groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’ll go take care of your lover boy, alright? But I’m going to have to tell him what’s going on. Can you handle that?”

Castiel shrugged.

“Okay, so I’ll talk to him and we’ll figure something out. We’ll get you out of here, alright?”

“As long as Dean’s safe, I don’t care.”

“You don’t _care_ !?” Balthazar reined in his temper. He loved Castiel, truly, but his cousin was a self-sacrificing _idiot_. “We’re coming back for you. That’s a promise.”


	8. The Three Trials

**** Twice the sun had risen and fallen. Twice Dean had waited in their bedroom, hoping that Castiel would come back. Twice he’d been disappointed.

Two days without a word from Castiel had left Dean wallowing in despair.  _ He _ had done this, he knew all too well, but it still hurt. 

Praying didn’t work. Dean had invoked the god again and again. Saying the name so intimately felt strange, not at all like Emmanuel, but Dean feared Castiel wouldn’t hear him at all if he used the fake name. As he shouted the god’s true name, he bore his heart and  _ pleading _ for a chance to make things right. He would do  _ anything _ to earn back Castiel’s trust. And still, the god didn’t return. 

Did Castiel even still consider himself Dean’s husband anymore?

Fuck.

The third day dawned and Dean broke down into tears once more. Every sunrise broke him a little more. He held onto hope, but the longer he went without seeing Castiel the harder it was to convince himself that things would turn around.

“Well, you’re a mess. Can’t believe Cassie went and fell for someone who falls apart so easily.”

Startled, Dean whipped around to find a strange man in his bedroom. He was on the balcony, the same place Castiel always appeared, but he looked nothing like Dean’s husband. 

He didn’t even have wings.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” Dean backed cautiously away from the stranger. The demon blade was close. If he could just get to it.

“I flew. Obviously. We’re on a mountain. What, did you think I  _ climbed _ up here?” The man rolled his eyes and stepped further into the room. “I’m Balthazar, God of the Wind. I’m here on Castiel’s behalf.”

That stopped Dean dead in his tracks. Frowning suspiciously, he glared at the god. “Castiel said one of the goddesses was angry with me. How do I know you’re not helping her instead of him?”

Balthazar made a face. “Because I despise her. I’d help just about anyone she disliked on principal alone, and I’m not a god of strong principals.”

“And  _ that’s _ supposed to convince me?”

“I’m the one who brought you and your brothers up here.” When Dean made a face, Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Wind God, remember?” He snapped his finger and winds surged through the window and whirled around Dean, raising him off the ground nearly a foot as if he weighed nothing at all. With other snap, he was gently released as the winds dissipated. “I’ve known you were here the whole time. If I were going to rat you out, would’ve done it  _ ages _ ago.”

Dean still wasn’t comforted; Balthazar noticed and sighed. 

“Look, Cassie’s my cousin and one of my few friends in Heaven. He asked for my help bringing you here, and I gave it. Now he’s in trouble, and I’m going to help both of you because you need it.”

“Wait, Castiel’s in trouble?” He tensed. What could possibly happen that would put a  _ god _ in trouble?

“He finally got  _ caught  _ by his mother. She’s got him locked up because of you.”

“Wait, Nao—” He stopped short when he saw Balthazar’s glare. “The Goddess of Beauty is the one who hates me?”

“Of course, darling. She’s petty and doesn’t like people who are prettier than her. You never stood a chance.”

“Wait.” Dean held up his hands. “Are you saying the Goddess of Beauty doesn’t like me because… she thinks I’m pretty…?”

“I mean, you’re alright. Not my type or anything, but yes, essentially.” Balthazar said it so matter of factly, as though  _ obviously _ Dean was attractive enough to rival a goddess  _ known _ for her beauty. But that wasn’t right at all… 

Was it?

“Did you really not know?” The god looked at Dean with something akin to pity. “Darling, they tell  _ stories _ about how beautiful you are. Why do you think you have so many suitors? You’re a prince from a small kingdom with no military, no impressive wealth, nothing to entice  _ anyone _ that wasn’t a third or fourth son or daughter themselves, yet you had  _ actual kings and queens _ on your doorstep begging for your hand.”

“Hey! We have a military!” Dean protested. “It’s just… small… and comprised of volunteers… and… shut up!” The more Dean thought about it, the less it added up. Practically  _ every _ kingdom had sent suitors to court him. Balthazar was right, Dean’s position wasn’t a strong one. He had little dowry to offer and his kingdom offered almost nothing besides his title. “... People want to marry me based solely on the fact that they think I’m attractive? That’s  _ idiotic _ .”

“I don’t particularly disagree, but I also have no interest in marrying  _ anyone _ , so I don’t understand the appeal in general. Now, can we talk about helping Castiel or what?”

There was something surprisingly genuine about the way Balthazar spoke that had helped alleviate a lot of Dean’s worries. Balthazar cared about Castiel, and that was good enough for Dean to trust him.

“So Nao— _ the Goddess of Beauty _ , she’s got Castiel locked up because of me?”

“Yeah. He’s in a cage tucked away in Heaven. No one’s going to find him. No one’s going to go  _ looking _ , even. Cassie’s always been somewhat of a recluse. If he and I weren’t close, it never would have  _ occurred _ to me that something was wrong.”

“She’s got him in a  _ cage _ ?”

“Metal bars and everything. He’s in a bad way. Whatever we do, we need to move quickly or there might not be a Castiel to save.”

Dean winced. He’d betrayed Castiel and gotten him locked up by his own mother. Was there no end to the ways he’d hurt his husband?

“Can you get him out?”

“Oh gee, why didn’t I think of that? Good thing I’ve got you here to help! Of bloody course I can’t! If I could, you think I’d be the one here instead of your husband?”

“Then what are we going to do?” he grit out. “If you can’t get him out, what chance do  _ I _ stand? I’m just a human.”

“Well, since this is  _ because _ of you, whether you intended it or not,  _ you _ have to be the one to put an end to it. We’re going to She Who Must Not be Named’s temple, and you’re going to pray for her forgiveness.”

“And she’s just going to forgive me?”

“Not likely, but at least if you ask for it formally in one of her temples, she can’t just smite you for no reason. She’ll have to at least hear you out.”

“Okay. When do we leave?”

“As soon as you’re ready. Bring your demon blade and anything else you want to keep; if things go poorly, I won’t be able to bring you back here. It won’t be safe for much longer as it is.”

The moment Dean declared himself ready, Balthazar put two fingers to his forehead and Dean fell unconscious. When he woke up, he was livid. But then he remembered how terrifying it’d been when Balthazar had flown him up the mountain; Naomi’s temple was much farther than that, and Dean was  _ very _ happy to have missed the flight.

They were on the outskirts of a marshy city. Balthazar made sure Dean was awake, pointed him in the direction of the temple, then disappeared from sight.

“Hey!” Dean hissed as he whirled around. “I can’t do this on my own!”

_ “You can and you will. I’m only here for moral support as is.” _

“Where  _ are _ you? How are you doing that?”

_ “Wind god. I can be invisible. And no offense, but I’m more valuable to you if none of the other gods know I’m helping.” _

Grousing under his breath, Dean headed to the temple on a hill overlooking the city. He could feel a gentle breeze rustling his hair, and it comforted him to know Balthazar was there, even if he was out of sight. 

The city itself felt like a swamp. The air was thick and the buildings all showed signs of decay; the weather had not been kind to them. The temple itself, alone on its hill, looked absolutely pristine and at total odds with everything around it. Marble glistened in the sun, while everywhere else the cement was cracked and decaying.

“I don’t get it,” Dean mumbled. The streets were crowded, and no one paid him any mind. Still, Dean didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, and talking to himself would surely do that. “If she’s Goddess of Beauty, wouldn’t she want to be somewhere that actually  _ looks _ nice?”

_ “No,” _ Balthazar snorted. The voice sounded like it was whispered right in his ear, yet he felt nothing of the god’s presence.  _ “She likes to be the most beautiful thing around. That means surrounding herself with ugly things so that she looks even better by comparison.” _

“... She must not be very beautiful if she needs to use cheap tricks like that.”

_ “Wouldn’t know. All I see when I look at her is a frigid bitch. Beauty’s the furthest thing from my mind.” _

They continued in silence for the rest of the trip. The hill was bigger than it looked, and Dean played with the idea of asking Balthazar to carry him the rest of the way. He could already  _ hear _ the snark such a request would produce, so he kept his mouth shut and dealt with it. 

Once inside the temple, a priestess came to remove Dean’s sandals and bag. He was reluctant to give up the demon blade, but if it hadn’t been powerful enough to hurt Castiel, what good would it be against Naomi? The priestess nodded and ushered him towards the large statue at the opposite end of the temple, then disappeared with his things.

Dean watched her go, then turned toward the statue. 

“I thought you said she liked ugly things. The priestess was pretty.”

_ “The priestess was gifted with beauty by the goddess herself. People are allowed to be beautiful if  _ **_she’s_ ** _ the source of it. Natural or manmade beauty offends her.” _

“I’d say I hate her even more than I did before, but she has my husband so I’m already maxed out on hate for her.”

_ “Good. But don’t let her see too much of that. You still need her to cooperate. Once Castiel’s free, you’re more than welcome to tell her off. I’ll cheer you on.” _

The large statue sat on a gilded throne. Although it irked him to do so, he took a knee before the statue and bent his head in supplication. This was for Castiel, he reminded himself. He could swallow his pride for Castiel.

“Naomi, Goddess of Beauty, I beg for your forgiveness. Any offenses I committed were unintentional, and I would gladly do anything to undo them. I humbly ask for a chance to do so.”

Nothing happened. 

He waited until his knee ached and his neck grew stiff, but still he waited. If Naomi thought she could make him give up this easily, she had another thing coming. He’d wait until the temple fell to the ground if he had to. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, the temple shook. He stayed where he was until he saw the statue itself move, and then he fell backwards in shock. Looking up, he found himself staring at the twenty foot statue come to life. The eyes glowed and the goddess stared down at him, her expression lifeless and unyielding despite the light signifying her presence. 

Dean shivered. It was terrifying. And what had his life become, that he was willing to face divine beings like this?

_ “She looks the same in person, you know,” _ whispered Balthazar.  _ “Totally unfeeling… Beauty without affection behind it.” _

She reached out a stone hand to lift Dean’s chin and tilt it up towards her. He hated having her touch him, but he forced himself not to flinch away from the contact.

“ _**So,** _ ” she said in a booming voice that echoed off the walls of the temple, “ _**you're my son's whore. Don’t know why he picked you; he could do so much better. Could’ve had anyone he wanted, and yet here you are.** _ ” She turned Dean's head from side to side to get a better look at him. “ _**You’re not nearly as pretty as everyone says. I don’t know how they ever thought you compared to me** _ . ”

Dean tried to hold his tongue—Balthazar had warned him she was spiteful—but his nerves were frayed as it was without having to deal with such ridiculously offensive accusations. It was too much to keep quiet. “I’m not a _ whore _ ,” he snapped as he jerked his head away from her grasp. “Emmanuel— _ Castiel _ is my husband. There’s nothing wrong with what we’ve done together.” 

She ignored him and fisted a handful of his hair, yanking his head back to bare his neck. Dean winced, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

“ _**Marriage is for mortals. We gods only recognize stronger bonds. I see you have no mating mark.** _ ” She let him go and he nearly collapsed. There was a look of disdain on her face, as though touching him even through the statue’s cold hands was terrible. “ _**He gave you gifts, showered you with praise, fucked some pups into you, and left. Sounds like a whore to me**_. ”

The rage that had been rising the more she spoke died by the end; anger gave way to shock and then to a sinking feeling of despair.

“Pups?” he repeated. He couldn’t see Balthazar, but he felt the air drop a few degrees. 

“ _**No one told you?** _ ” she laughed. “ ** _Pathetic_ ** .”

“I-I just…” This wasn’t the time to have a meltdown about being pregnant. He was or wasn’t, and that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Castiel. 

_ Pups need their alpha— _

_ Focus! _

“I humbly ask for a chance to earn your forgiveness,” Dean repeated. “I never meant to offend you, and I would gladly—”

“ _**He doesn’t want you back, you know. He’s bored of you. You were too easy to bed, and now he’s moved on to his next conquest. You needn’t bother with all…** _ ” She waved her hand vaguely at where Dean still kneeled before her. “ _**... this**_. ”

Dean closed his eyes, then opened them and stubbornly said, “I humbly ask for a chance to earn your forgiveness and wash away my crimes—”

“ _**ENOUGH**_! ” she boomed. Her fists were clenched so tightly pieces of the marble chipped off. “ _**Fine. You want to earn my forgiveness, you may do so.** _ ”

“And if I do, you’ll let Castiel go, too?”

“ _**You certainly ask a lot, don’t you?** _ ”

“If you say he doesn’t want me anyway, what does it matter?” he shot back.

Naomi chuckled, not at all rattled like Dean had hoped. “ **_I suppose you’re right. Very well. I will give you three trials to complete. If you are able to do all three, I will forgive you for all your previous offenses and I will release Castiel_**. ” She bent low to offer a hand to Dean. Her smile probably would’ve been just as odious if she were standing before him as flesh and blood, but seeing it on the statue made goosebumps rise along Dean’s arms. “ _**Deal**_? ”

Cautiously, Dean raised his hand. He had a bad feeling about this.

_ “You’re not going to get a better offer,” _ Balthazar whispered.  _ “If she makes the deal, she’s bound to it. The trials will no doubt be  _ **_awful_ ** _ , but if you get through them, at least she’ll have to honor the terms.” _

“Deal,” he said as he accepted her hand. She squeezed so hard he was sure she was going to break his hand, but she let go before he heard any bones crack, so that was something.

“ _**Your first task…** _ ” She waved a hand and the temple was filled with the sound of a waterfall. Dean yelped and turned around. It wasn’t a waterfall at all, but rather a great mass of wheat, barley, poppy seeds, chickpeas, lentils, and beans all cascading from the roof down to the floor. As they fell, they mixed together into a total mess. It piled up all around him, blocking the entrance and crowding him in. Even if he tried to climb over it, there’d be scant enough room between the top and the lowest reaches of the ceiling for him to get through. Once the last of it fell into place, Naomi continued. “ _**... is to sort this mess into separate piles. Not a single piece can go missing or be misplaced. You have until dawn. Good luck,** _ ” she said sweetly. 

She sat back down, the seams of the statue disappearing as they reconnected with the marble base of her throne. The movements grew slower until finally the light went from her eyes and she remained there, a statue once more.

Not entirely convinced she was gone, Dean stared up at the unmoving stone for several moments.

“Well that could’ve gone worse,” Balthazar said and Dean startled to actually  _ see _ the god again.

Dean gave Balthazar a withering gaze. “So that’s the bar we’re trying to reach? ‘Could’ve gone worse’?”

Balthazar shrugged. With no attempt at chalance, he leaned in and started sniffing at Dean.

“Wh-what are you doing!?” Dean snapped, but the god only came closer to smell at his neck. “Would you quit that?”

“Fuck,” Balthazar said when he pulled away. “She’s right, you’re pregnant. That… complicates things.”

Dean’s shoulders sagged. Pups weren’t supposed to be a complication, they were supposed to bring joy. 

_ And they will, once I get Castiel back. _

“Things are already complicated. This doesn’t change anything. We still need to complete these tasks and we still need to get Castiel back.”

“Fair enough.” 

Before Balthazar can walk over to inspect the mess Naomi left for them, Dean grabs his arm. “Do you… do you think Castiel knew?”

“About the pups? Probably not. I don’t know much about your falling out, but he hated leaving you on your own when your brothers visited. I don’t think he could’ve dragged himself away if he’d known you were pregnant. He’s way too alpha to leave his pregnant mate unprotected.”

“I’m not… he’s not me… we’re not…”

“I’m going to save you the embarrassment of stuttering your way through that sentence,” Balthazar said with an eye roll. “Doesn’t matter if you don’t have a mark on your neck or a blood bond to prove it, but I guarantee you Cassie sees you as his mate. Don’t listen to his mother’s bullshit about ‘what the gods recognize.’” He mimicked her voice and then stuck out his tongue in disgust. “It’s total nonsense. Plenty of gods have mates and spouses but no blood bond. Some of us don’t even  _ have _ blood. We recognize what the individuals involved recognize. Castiel sees himself as you’re husband, he’s your husband. He sees himself as your mate, he’s your mate. End of story.”

Dean followed as Balthazar walked right to the edges of the enormous pile. He wanted to talk more about Castiel, but he didn’t know if he’d want to hear what Balthazar had to say. It was all well and good to hear that Castiel cared about him, but until  _ Castiel _ was the one saying it, it didn’t really change anything.

“So how am I supposed to do this first trial? It seems impossible even if I had a month, never mind a few hours.”

Balthazar gave him a look that instantly reminded Dean of Sam. 

Dean  _ hated _ that look.

“You’re kidding, right?” Balthazar flicked his wrists and a gentle breeze passed through. It swirled around the pile, collecting chickpeas from the heap. “Wind god? I’ll have this done within an hour. Two, if I’m feeling particularly lazy. Half an hour if I wanted to challenge myself, but I don’t, so I won’t.”

“Oh.” Dean watched in amazement as the stack grew smaller as all the chickpeas were pulled out. A large gust cleared out room for a new pile to form, and the chickpeas floated over in a line before dropping to the ground. “So I guess this is a pretty easy one?”

“Mmhmm.” Balthazar conducted the winds like an orchestra, pointing here and there as they started on the lentils. 

Unfortunately with nothing left to occupy Dean but his thoughts, the doubts started to creep in on him.

“She said Castiel has moved on to another conquest—”

“He hasn’t.” Balthazar didn’t take his eyes off his work as he answered. “He doesn’t  _ do _ conquests.”

Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better.

“Okay, but… she said it was too easy for him…  _ I _ was too easy…” Dean didn’t want to think about it, but it was a growing fear and he  _ had _ to know. “He’s the God of Love… Did he… Did he  _ make _ me…” Even then, Dean couldn’t admit it out loud that he loved him. “Did he  _ make _ me care about him?”

Balthazar snorted a laugh. After a second, his eyes flicked to Dean and he did a double take. “Oh fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?  _ No _ , he didn’t use his powers to make you fall for him. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. The more emotionally attached he is, he less power he has over someone. 

“He and I have been friends for  _ ages _ . He tried helping me with these beautifully flexible twins, but alas he couldn’t make them so much as glance my way. I’m only his best friend, and he was powerless. You’re the damn love of his life. He could no more force you in or out of love than change the color of the sky. It’s simply beyond him.”

“So what I feel for him—”

“That’s all you, darling.”

Dean wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. 

\- - - -

Naomi was positively fuming when she saw the neatly organized rows laid out before her. Not a single piece was out of place, and it was well before dawn. 

“ _**Very well**_ , ” she said icily. “ _**You’ve completed the first task. Well done.** _ ” Then a smirk replaced her glare. “ _**Since that trial was obviously too easy for you, I’ll simply have to compensate with the next one**_. ”

Dean could hardly argue; all he could do was wait. She’d gone with a difficult but relatively safe task before, and now he dreaded to see how she’d compensate now.

“ _**You must bathe in the blood of a hellhound. Come back to the temple when you’re done, drenched in its blood, and I’ll consider the trial completed. And if the beast happens to rip you to shreds instead...** _ ”

\- - - -

“How the hell am I supposed to kill a hellhound?” Dean grumbled as they stormed out of the temple and back through the city. “Aren’t they supposed to be ten times as strong as a regular dog? Twice as fast? Basically completely deadly to humans?”

_ “You’ve got your demon blade, you’ll be fine. More importantly, how are you going to  _ **_find_ ** _ one?” _

“Did you not hear the part about them being  _ deadly to humans _ ?” 

Apparently Balthazar was completely unconcerned about that. The demon blade was more than strong enough to cut through a hellhound’s hide, and Balthazar claimed he could use the wind to augment Dean’s “limited mortal strength.” 

“It really is finding one that’s going to be an issue,” Balthazar said as he lead Dean into the marsh around the city. “They, surprise surprise, don’t often leave Hell. And when they do, they tend to avoid the smell of the living. You, with your damned beating heart and belly full of pups, are the epitome of something living. They won’t go near you.”

“So we cover up my scent? Shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

Balthazar eyed him skeptically. “I suppose if we got enough dead animals, we could use the smell of their decay to cover up your scent…”

“Don’t hellhounds help bring the souls of the dead to the Underworld? Couldn’t we find a fresh tomb?”

“That actually might work.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all they had. 

It turned out covering up Dean’s scent wasn’t an issue (well, except for how rancid the smell of rotting animal corpses was, but Dean did his best to breathe through his mouth), but the first few tombs they stopped at were decidedly hellhound-less. Balthazar swept Dean along from city to city, stalking their tombs and funeral pyres until  _ finally _ they found a hellhound.

Dean could barely make out its outline as he snuck up on it—it was nearly invisible, but the edges shimmered in the light. When he got close enough, he lunged at the animal. 

It howled in surprise and swung its legs wildly to try and scratch at Dean. He held onto its neck, praying he could hang on long enough to get out the blade. Thankfully Balthazar’s plan to increase Dean’s strength was helping, but the damn thing shook so hard Dean was thrown off before he could stab the thing. It pounced on him, and in an act of desperation, he swung up with the blade. He felt more than saw as it cut through the touch hide. 

Hot blood oozed onto him, soaking into his clothes and covering his skin. 

The poor dog whined and jumped off of him. Dean climbed to his feet, slipping in the blood. He could see the beast a lot more clearly now that its own blood matted its fur. It whimpered as it backed into a corner, and Dean just didn’t have the heart to kill it. He was covered in blood, more than enough to satisfy Naomi, so what was the point?

He’d already pissed off one god, the last thing he needed to do was anger any others by killing their pet. All his life Dean had heard stories about how the Demon King of Hell doted on the creatures; killing one would likely only earn him another enemy. 

“It’s okay,” Dean cooed as he backed away with his arms up. “I’m not gonna hurt you any more. You go out the back door, I go out the front, we go our separate ways… Sound good?”

Red eyes blinked at him. If he wasn’t mistaken, the hound nodded at him before bolting out the door.

“Mercy for a hellhound?” Balthazar asked as he materialized to Dean’s right.

“FUCK!” Dean yelled as he jumped and clutched at his heart. “Could you stop with the whole disappearing-reappearing act?”

“And deprive myself the simple pleasure of seeing you jump five feet in the air? Never.” He gave Dean a once over and with just the tips of his fingers started guiding Dean out of the tomb. “Now let’s get your blood-covered ass back to the temple so we can get you a bath.”


	9. The Innocent Soul

**** Naomi looked down her nose at him, the light of her eyes flickering in anger. Dean stood before her statue at the temple, covered in congealed blood. Instead of being impressed, she simply looked miffed.

_**“So you survived. And appear uninjured. How… boring.”** _

“Sorry to disappoint.” It was getting harder and harder not to sneer every time he spoke to her, but he forced his face to stay neutral.

Unseen, Balthazar nudged him. He doubted the god actually  _ cared _ , so he wasn’t about to apologize for it.

“ _**You’ve shown you can do menial tasks and dangerous ones,** _ ” Naomi said thoughtfully. “ _**No matter. Since you stubbornly persist in this foolish endeavor, hopefully this last task will show you how idiotic your quest is.** _ ”

“You’re not going to scare me away from Castiel.”

“ _**My dear boy** _ ,” she chuckled, placing a hand on her chest. “ _**I don’t have** _ _**to. Castiel truly isn’t interested in you. If anything, I’m trying to save you the embarrassment of rejection.**_ ”

“How thoughtful of you. What’s the next task.” Whatever she hoped to accomplish with her constant insults, all she did was strengthen Dean’s resolve to get through this and save Castiel.

“ _**Very well** _ .” Naomi didn’t appear at all put out or nearly half as annoyed as when she saw he’d completed the second trial. That didn’t bode well. “ **_You will travel to the Underworld and find a innocent soul, trapped in unjust torment. Free that innocent soul, return alive, and you will have completed the trials_**. ”

“ _ What _ ?” Dean sputtered. “No mortal can return from the Underworld  _ alive _ ! This is a suicide mission!”

“ _**Oh dear, I think you might be right** _ _**.**_ ” Her smile was all too gleeful at the prospect. “ _**It wouldn’t be a very good trial if just anyone could do it. So, Dean of Winchester, do you accept this last task or would you rather give up?** _ ”

“I’ll do it.” Like he had a choice. 

He turned and stormed out of the temple, Naomi’s laughter following him the whole way.

“What a heartless bitch,” Dean spat as he pushed his way through the crowd. Balthazar never materialized within the confines of the city or anywhere else that was crowded, but Dean didn’t much care if he looked crazy right now as he seemingly talked to no one. “I get that she hates me, but my pups are  _ her _ grandchildren. Demi-gods in their own right! She should care a  _ little _ !”

_ “What do you want me to say? I warned you she was cold-hearted. She has her own son locked in a cage, for fuck’s sake. I don’t think she’s up for granny of the year.” _

Dean cursed under his breath until they’d gotten somewhere more secluded. The other two tasks had seemed impossible, but  _ this _ ? This was designed to be undoable. He’d come so far, only to fail now...

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“You know,” Balthazar said as he reappeared, “this is normally where I’d make a joke about how you won’t be fucked until Cassie’s back, but that would be in poor taste.”

“... How are you two even friends?”

Balthazar shrugged. “We’re the only ones willing to put up with each other? Doesn’t matter, since I’m also the only one willing to help  _ you _ , and this is definitely something I  _ can’t _ help with. You’re not wrong that no mortal can go to the Underworld and return alive, but few gods are welcome there, either. This isn’t like on earth, where I can come and go as I please without anyone noticing. Crowley  _ will _ notice me there.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Is there any way we could use that to our advantage?” Balthazar gave him a puzzled look, so Dean went on to explain the idea that was slowly starting to form. “I’m sure mortal souls come in all the time, he’s not going to notice  _ me _ . But if he’ll definitely notice  _ you _ strolling in…”

“Then I’d be a pretty decent diversion,” Balthazar finished for him. “And while I’m getting my ass kicked by the Demon King, you can run in, save some poor mortal soul, and try to escape. Honestly, it sounds extremely dangerous and likely to get us both in a lot of hot water. Not to mention Castiel would rip me apart if I let anything happen to you—”

“That didn’t stop you from sending me off to fight a friggin’  _ hellhound _ !” Dean scowled at the god.

“... Fair point.” Balthazar had the decency to look mildly apologetic. “Though that was more a calculated risk. This is complete madness.”

“So you won’t distract Crowley?”

Balthazar sighed, the action stirring up the winds around them. “I didn’t say that. If a mere mortal’s willing to play along with these trials, far be it from me to back out now. I’ll take you to the entrance of the Underworld, point you in the right direction, and hope I can keep Crowley preoccupied long enough for you to do your thing. Then you and I will meet up at the entrance—hopefully both still in one piece—and skedaddle.”   

“Alright. But who do I save? I need someone who’s suffering in Hell, but who’s innocent. I don’t know anyone like that, and I’m not even sure how to  _ find out _ …” He noticed Balthazar’s uncomfortable silence. “... You have someone in mind?”

“I… might.”

Dean couldn’t remember Balthazar ever appearing so skittish. The god practically radiated confidence and self-assurance, and yet here he was, unwilling to actually say anything.

“Well c’mon! Spit it out!”

“Well,” he said, not meeting Dean’s eye. “There’s Daphne…”

“Daphne?” Dean repeated. “Am I supposed to know who that is…?”

“No, but you’re not going to like it.” Balthazar’s shoulders slumped. “Daphne was Castiel’s first crush. His only crush, actually, before you. He was smitten with the young nymph. Probably would’ve married her, but his mother stepped in and had her sent to Hell to be tortured. Castiel never found out what happened to her. He asked me to look into it on his behalf, but when I found her and realized there was nothing we could do to rescue her, I decided not to tell him.”

“... You want me to rescue my husband’s former lover?” The prospect made Dean’s stomach turn as jealousy flared. Castiel deserved to be happy, and if Daphne were a nymph, that already put her at higher standing than Dean.

“First of all,” Balthazar said, “lover is a strong word. He  _ liked _ her. I’d be astonished if he ever worked up the nerve to hold her hand. Second of all, none of this is her fault, no more than it’s your fault that you’re in this mess. She really was innocent, and she really is stuck in one of the worse corners of Hell.”

“And you’re just  _ now _ trying to rescue her?”

“It was selfish of me, but I was looking out for myself and for Castiel. It would’ve angered his mother  _ and _ Crowley to do it, and for what? That type of grudge causes war in Heaven, and that usually ends badly for  _ everyone _ .” Balthazar looked at Dean with wide eyes, pleading for him to understand. “I’m trying to make up for that now by helping  _ you _ . And if I can help her too, then all the better.”

They stood there in silence for a long time as Dean collected his thoughts. He didn’t like this whole trial, but if it could set right an old wrong, then he would play his part. 

“Alright,” Dean said. “Let’s go save her.”

\- - - -

There were gates to the Underworld throughout the world. Their plan set, they headed towards the closest one. Balthazar made sure Dean was unconscious for the flight over since “mortals shouldn’t know how to get here.”

“Why would I  _ ever _ want to come back here?” he snapped. “I don’t even want to be here  _ now _ !”

“And yet here you are, and here you might be again if I’m not careful.” They slipped into the hole in the earth and descended into darkness. 

The stairs went on and on, but Balthazar refused to use his powers to speed things up. 

“The more I use them, the faster Crowley will get wind that I’m here. Pun intended. The moment he finds out, this mission gets put on a timer. You’ll have to be fast. I can race us out of here, but you’ll have to be careful until we’re back at the stairs, alright?”

Dean nodded grimly. He’d gone over the plan at least a dozen times by now; he didn’t need Balthazar’s constant nagging to remind him how dangerous this was. 

As soon as the stairs leveled off into a dark field, lit by an eerie light and covered in a strange fog, they split up. Dean’s path was relatively straightforward. All he had to do was follow the screams.

Although Balthazar didn’t  _ know _ where Daphne was being held, he’d given a good enough description of her that Dean knew her at once. The poor girl was pushing a boulder up a hill, digging her feet into the muddy ground to gain a few inches at a time. Whenever she’d nearly made it to the top, she’d slip and the boulder would inevitably tumble back down. Each time it happened, she looked no more surprised than if a leaf had fallen from a tree. 

How many times had she tried to push that damn rock up only to fail?

“Are you Daphne?” he called as he approached.

The girl startled slightly but nodded. “I am.”

“I’m Dean. I’m here to uh… to help.” He looks between her and the boulder. “Will your soul be laid to rest if we can get that rock up the hill?”

“Yes,” she said skeptically. She kept her distance, likely wondering if he was some new form of torture meant to torment her. “But why would you want to help me? The gods don’t like it when mortals interfere with these sorts of things.”

He could’ve easily said how he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, or maybe how he thought himself a hero and wanted to help those in need.

Instead, Dean went with the truth.

“The Goddess of Beauty hates me. Plus Castiel’s my husband and she’s got him locked up in Heaven. She’s giving me these trials to try and earn forgiveness. Helping you’s really my only chance to get him back, so I—”

“That’s enough,” Daphne said with a raised hand. “You had me at ‘the Goddess of Beauty hates me.’ I completely understand. If helping each other out irks her in any way, then all the better.”

Dean blinked in surprise then smiled. “Well then. Let’s get this boulder up the hill.”

Between the two of them, it was relatively easy. Their combined strength moved it easily, and whenever a supernatural force tried to propel it away from Daphne, Dean was there to nudge it back into place. It was annoying, but they got it done. When the boulder finally fell into place at the top of the hill, it glowed faintly before locking into place.

“Thank you,” Daphne said as her form flickered. Before she’d looked as alive as he did, though admittedly a little paler and with dark circles around her eyes. Now she seemed made of light more than anything physical. Her form flickered, but her sincere smile shone brightly. “Good luck with your trials. And tell Castiel I said hello.”

And like that she was gone, nothing more than lights no bigger than fire flies spreading out and flying away into the gloom.

Dean watched, mesmerized by the sight, until a screech and low moan in the distance reminded him exactly where he was. Task complete, he sprinted back the way he came. Other dead souls pleaded with him to save them from their torment, saying they too were innocent and deserved to be saved. Whether that was true or not, there was nothing Dean could do for them that wouldn’t doom himself, his pups, and Castiel.

It couldn’t have taken him long to arrive at the steps, yet when he got through the fog he came face to face with a man dressed in black with a vice grip around Balthazar’s neck. 

Balthazar was on his knees, nose bloody and eye bruised. Whatever had happened, he seemed bound in place. The air was dank and heavy; not a single wind stirred. Balthazar was trapped.

There was no mistaking the man before him. Like all the major gods and goddesses, he too had been represented in the temple back in Winchester. He’d sat upon a throne of bones and smirked down at Dean every time he’d come to visit. It wasn’t often he paid respect to this particular god, especially not after both his parents had gone to join his kingdom.

Crowley, King of Hell.

“So you’re the mortal who’s been traipsing around my underworld?” 

Lying to a god seemed like a terrible idea, so Dean bowed down in supplication. “I am. I don’t mean to intrude, but I’ve been sent here on—”

“Oh, I know all about my aunt’s games.” Crowley threw Balthazar to the ground. A breeze picked up but then Crowley’s foot on Balthazar’s back put an end to that. “Normally I let her play around, since she usually ends up  _ adding _ to the number of souls under my command, but it seems this time she’s gotten a little carried away and crossed a few lines she shouldn’t have.”

A low growl sounded from Dean’s right. He shivered, knowing from first hand experience that only one creature made such a sound. There was no time to protect himself—one moment he was on his feet, the next he was knocked to the ground with a hellhound pressing onto his shoulders. The beast was more corporeal here in the underworld than it had been on land, dark fur, red eyes, and sharp teeth all visible.

As was the huge cut running down its belly.

Panic overwhelmed Dean, made him too slow as he tried to reach for his demon blade.

And then, to his complete shock, the hellhound  _ licked _ him.

“Wha- _ ew _ !” He made a face as slobber made his cheek sticky. Unbothered by his reaction, the hellhound licked him again on the other cheek, then right across his face from his chin to his forehead.

A sharp whistle sounded and the hellhound jumped off of him. Dean peeked through one eye as the dog went to sit at Crowley’s heel. The god scratched behind the animal’s ear and she purred in contentment. 

“My aunt,” Crowley said as he kept petting the hellhound, “should have known better than to send you after one of my dogs. If you’d killed Juliet, obviously I’d have killed you as well, but then I’d have gone after her next. Whatever you’ve done to piss her off, you’ve made her incredibly  _ stupid _ .”

He removed his foot from Balthazar, and a wind surged. In the blink of an eye, Balthazar was right beside Dean, helping him up and shielding him from Crowley.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at—”

“No games,” Crowley interrupted. “He had the chance to kill Juliet, and he chose not to. So in a show of gratitude, I’m going to let you both go. This  _ once _ . Come to Hell again, and I can assure you, you won’t get away so easily. No matter how much it would pain me to have such a pretty lad stuck here with the rest of the skum.”

Dean balked at that. “Did the king of the underworld just flirt with me?” he whispered.

“Just go with it, I want to get out of here,” Balthazar whispered back before speaking up more loudly. “You’ll let us leave?” he said with obvious disbelief. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Crowley promised. “I’ve always liked Castiel. More than his conniving mother, that’s for sure. Besides…” He turned his attention to Dean. “As much fun as I’m sure we’d have together, a pretty lad like yourself, I have the feeling Castiel would be none too happy with me. I like to back winners, and something tells me Castiel’s going to come out on top in this little family squabble.”

Dean and Balthazar shared a look.

“Well?” Crowley shouted, gesturing to the staircase behind him. “Off with you, before I change my mind!”

The two jumped and then made a run for it. They didn’t look back, not with Juliet barking and Crowley laughing as they ascended back towards the fresh air above. After they rounded the first bend in the stairs, Balthazar turned into a tailwind. Dean’s feet lifted off the ground as the god’s protective hold hurried them back to the surface.

Normally Dean hated being carried along by the wind, but he relaxed into it now. Finally, he was done. He would get Castiel back, Naomi would leave them alone, and they’d be able to start building a life together not cast in the shadow of an angry goddess.

It was almost over.

Thank the gods.

\- - - -

Naomi heard the prayer and huffed in annoyance. This omega was more trouble than he was worth. Oh well, soon it’d be over and this mortal would be no more than a distant memory. Despite his best efforts, Dean of Winchester would  _ not _ be able to hurt her son for much longer. 

The thought made her smile. The trials were a meaningless diversion, and they’d done the job beautifully. While Dean ran around on fool’s errands, Naomi had all but finished freeing Castiel of his weakness for the boy. And if Dean had happened to die in his vain attempts to earn back her goodwill, all the better.

Her eyes rolled back as her mind’s gaze focused on the statue in her temple. When the world next came into focus, she was staring down at the uppity omega. 

“ _**You just won’t quit, will you?** _ ” It hardly mattered at this point, but she found she rather enjoyed acting as though it did.

“I finished the third trial. I rescued Daphne from the unjust torment  _ someone _ gave her.”

There was an accusation in his tone, but Naomi didn’t care. If she was supposed to know who this Daphne woman was, she didn’t remember. Mortals were barely interesting while they were alive, and certainly not after they’d died and gone to the underworld. 

“ _**And**_? ”

“ _ And _ you promised you’d forgive me and let Castiel go if I completed your trials. I completed them, now it’s your turn to hold up your end of the deal.”

She sighed dramatically. Though she wanted to gloat, she pretended to be put out by his success. The less Dean suspected, the more painful his inevitable end would be.

“ _**Very well.** _ ” She snapped her fingers and thunder sounded in the distance. “ _**You, Dean of Winchester, are forgiven for offenses against my divinity. I will no longer act against you, your family, or your kingdom. Happy?** _ ”

“What about Castiel?”

Her anger flared for a moment. This mortal, this insignificant speck of dust, was bordering on insolence. He should be groveling at her feet and showering her with praise for being so merciful. For all she’d put him through, he  _ still _ hadn’t learned his lesson.

No matter. He  _ would _ .

“ _**He’s free to go, of course.** _ ” She waved her hand dismissively. “ _**It’s done. I’ll release him when I return to Heaven**_. ”

The tension drained from Dean’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

_ He only deigns to thank me once I’ve given him what he wants. I am a  _ **_goddess_ ** _. I should not have to  _ **_earn_ ** _ words of praise from the likes of him, they should be freely given. _

“ _**No need to thank me** _ _**,**_ ” she said sweetly. “ _**I know you think Castiel will return to you. We’ll see who he chooses. I’m confident my son will make the right choice. I’ve warned you not to get your hopes up, but you ignored me. Now you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.** _ ”

The boy opened his mouth to say more, but she left her statue. He would  _ not _ get the last word.

The deal she’d made pulled her towards Castiel’s cage. There were some things even gods were bound to, and now a power even beyond her own demanded she release him.

She walked down the halls of her dungeon until she found the desolate cage at the back. Castiel sat there, unseeing as he stared at his feet. There lay the body of Dean of Winchester, torn apart and mangled nearly beyond recognition.

The creatures she’d conjured were poor facsimiles at best. They were unfit to fool even a human, let alone a god. The first few had been utterly useless. Castiel had jerked away in horror and wouldn’t go near them. Naomi had taken a bundle of thorns and struck Castiel across the face until his eyes bled and his vision was all but ruined. It was awful to have to do that to him, but the poor boy needed correction; it was only because she loved him that she kept at it after his voice had gone hoarse from screaming.

The next few attempts went no better, despite her encouragement; Castiel could not see the faults and believed the creatures to be Dean. He spent so much time groveling at their feet and begging for forgiveness that Naomi had had to dispatch of them herself. Her stupid lovesick son couldn’t bear to do the omega any harm, so she’d taken more drastic measures.

After that, she’d held the blade in Castiel’s hands and forced him to slit their throats one by one. And Castiel, weak, foolish child that he was, had  _ wept _ . It took dozens before he’d become numb to the whole thing. She no longer had to hold the blade for him. He did as she ordered, cutting down the copies one by one. He hesitated, sometimes tried to speak to them, and that earned him more lashes. 

Finally she found the key to bending Castiel to her will. She made him watch as she killed them slowly. That was most effective; if his choices were watching them die painfully or giving them a swift end himself, he always chose the latter. Dozens fell in quick succession after that. Sometimes he still needed a nudge, a careful reminder what would happen should he fail to dispose of them on his own, but that was enough.

Only this morning, she’d left this final Dean as a test. No orders or instructions, just this doppelganger and a blade. Now the fake was dead and Castiel was truly unburdened.

“You did it,” she praised as she unlocked the cage. “You killed him.”

Castiel remained where he was.

“Finally, you’re ready.” She kneeled down next to him, turning his head to face her. She wiped a speck of blood from her son’s cheek and then kissed it. “And just in time. Dean’s waiting for you.”

He didn’t react to the name or her touch or anything at all. He barely blinked, just stared down at the body at his feet.

“Oh Castiel, I know this has been hard.” She patted his cheek and stood up, taking his hand in hers and leading him out of the cage. 

Castiel let her, stepped right over the dead body and kept going.

“But it’s almost over. You can end it tonight.” She slipped a dagger into his hands and closed his fingers around it. “Just one more, my darling. Can you do that?”

Not meeting her eye, he nodded. Then he took to the air and was gone.

Naomi had done it. 

She’d won.


	10. The Lovers' Revenge

**** With nowhere else to go and no idea when Castiel would reappear, Balthazar took Dean back to the villa. It seemed to look even larger than he remembered, possibly because he knew how empty it was without Castiel there. He stared at the entryway and hesitated.

“Cassie’ll be here soon,” Balthazar said, picking up on Dean’s fears. “His mother might  _ think _ she’s got him wrapped around her finger, but he’s more independent than she gives him credit for. Never mind that he looks like a love sick puppy whenever he mentions you. He’ll come back.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed heavily and tried to find comfort in Balthazar’s reassurances. “I’m still worried. What’s she done to him while he’s been gone? And didn’t she seem to give in too easily at the end? She’s got something planned…”

“Dean…” A hand squeezed his shoulder and Dean turned around to face the god. “It’s okay to be wary. She’s a tricky one with a mean streak, but she made a deal. Even gods can’t break those. She  _ has _ to let him go and she  _ cannot _ raise a finger to harm you again.”

Unable to form words, he nodded.

“Castiel was in a bad way when I last saw him, and he’ll need your comfort when he returns. But he  _ will _ return. There is no place he’d rather be than at your side.”

Dean wanted to believe that was true. He loved Castiel, and Castiel might even love him back, but that didn’t mean all was forgiven between them. Dean had betrayed Castiel’s trust and was the only reason Naomi had hurt him. How could he earn back a place in Castiel’s heart after that?

He lingered on the steps. It didn’t feel like home without Castiel, but he had no where else he could go to wait for him.

“You want me to stay with you and wait…?”

Although it’d taken him a while to warm up to Balthazar, Dean did appreciate his company. The offer was a tempting one, but Balthazar had already done enough. He didn’t need to stay simply because Dean was feeling uneasy. Besides, when Castiel came back, they needed to talk. It’d be better to do it without an audience around.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

Balthazar gave him a disbelieving look but didn’t push. “Alright. I’ll visit in the morning to check in.”

“Thanks, Balthazar. Truly. For everything you’ve done. I don’t know that I deserve the help, but thank you.”

“I wasn’t sure you did either,” Balthazar admitted. “But you’d gotten Cassie to love you. Despite his rather unfortunate mother, he’s a good judge of character. I’m happy to learn that remains true with you.” He winked. “Now that the heartfelt moment’s out of the way, I’ll be off. Good luck with Castiel.”

He vanished before Dean could say anything else.

With nothing else to do but wait, Dean finally set foot in the villa. He wandered the halls and rooms, not unlike he did when he first arrived. The scenery was familiar and the path well worn, but he was equally anxious to find the villa’s owner. The heaviness in his heart grew as he found each room empty and abandoned. 

His tour ended at their bedroom, and he sighed. Now that he was here, his body reminded him just how exhausted he was. He’d barely slept since Castiel left. Between his nerves and the trials, it was a miracle he was still standing. 

He all but collapsed onto the bed. It was as messy as he’d left it, pillows and blankets tossed haphazardly aside as Castiel had scrambled to flee. Gathering them together, he bundled himself up and tried to find remnants of Castiel’s fading smell. It was there, however faint, and he breathed in lungful after lungful.

“Castiel,” Dean whispered. “I miss you. Come back home to me, alpha. Please.”

It was only midday, but Dean soon fell asleep, praying over and over to his absent husband to return. 

He dreamt of nothing but Castiel. Dreams and nightmares mingled together as his imagination played out every possible scenario for Castiel’s return: loving words and a tender embrace that turned into harsh words and hateful glares, banishment from their shared bed and the place Dean had come to call home. 

When a cool breeze actually roused him and he saw Castiel on the balcony, it took Dean a moment to realize he was no longer asleep.

“Cast-Emmanuel?” he breathed out. Saying his husband’s true name had made sense when he spoke to Balthazar and Naomi, but now it didn’t sound quite right on his tongue. Guiltily, he felt he hadn’t  _ earned _ the right to say it.

Dean jumped to his feet, overjoyed and excited despite his nerves. “I’m so glad you’re here. How I’ve missed you…”

His words cut off and he froze after a few strides. Something was wrong. Never mind the cuts and bruises all over him, the scratches across his face and the scabs around his eyes. His wings are a mess, feathers missing or seared at the edges—the once white wings were burnt black as night. All of that was to be expected, no matter how troubling it is to actually  _ see _ the damage Naomi did. What worried Dean most was how stiff Castiel was, how his dead and lifeless gaze reminded him of Naomi’s statue. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he stepped forward more cautiously. Of course he wasn’t, but Dean needed to ask. Needed to offer comfort for the injuries Castiel had sustained because of  _ him _ . Each step closer filled him with dread, the air buzzing with uncertainty. It was more than the fear of rejection, but he couldn’t place  _ what _ was so wrong. “Emmanuel, please, talk to me—”

The moment he was close enough to reach out and touch Castiel, that’s when the god struck. The slap was a shock to his system, far harder than a blow from any mortal. He stumbled backward and barely kept his footing. 

“I-I—” Any protests he might make died in his throat. He deserved that, truly he did. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…”

Castiel came at him again, hand raised and Dean weakly tried to protect himself. The blows came again and again, harder and harder until Dean was forced to his knees. As his lip busted open and his eye was bruised black, he looked up in terror. Not because of what Castiel did, but the total lack of emotion in his eyes as he did it. If this were an act of passion, brutal fury at Dean’s betrayal, Dean would accept it. He’d given himself over to Castiel long ago, back when he thought his husband was a creature named Emmanuel; his body and life were Castiel’s, to do with as he would.

There was no anger marring Castiel’s features. No pleasure either, for that matter. 

Castiel moved mechanically. He didn’t enjoy what he was doing nor need the release. It was almost an afterthought, the blows he struck and the pain he dealt Dean. If he thought about it at all; his face was completely expressionless. He had no interest or investment in anything he was doing.

It was as though it wasn’t even Castiel at all.

“Emmanuel, please…” He begged, finally trying to protect himself. The next blow fell on his forearm instead of his face, which was something at least. If only he could break through to Castiel. 

“You don’t have to do this. This isn’t you…”

More blows.

“Fight this… I don’t know what your mother did to you, but  _ fight it _ …”

A punch, a kick, another slap. 

“I’ve earned your anger… I know that…” It was hard to speak with his lip swelling and the blood flowing from when he’d bitten his cheek. “But this  _ isn’t you _ … I know you’re in there, I know you can hear me… please…” 

A blade appeared, long and jagged. It wasn’t meant to kill quickly, it was meant to saw and twist and  _ hurt _ . Truly desperate now, Dean grabbed at the hem of Castiel’s tunic.

“It’s-it’s  _ me _ … It’s  _ Dean _ , I’m your  _ husband _ … your—your  _ mate _ . I  _ need  _ you… I-I… I  _ love _ you… Emmanuel… Castiel…  _ Cas _ , please… the pups… don’t hurt the pups…  _ our _ pups… Cas—”

He flinched as Castiel’s hand came down again. He whined and tried to back away. Castiel found him anyway, hand move down Dean’s cheek to his chin. In a blind panic, Dean wondered if Castiel was going to snap his neck. Instead, he felt Castiel cradling his cheek. 

His eye was starting to swell shut and his vision blurred. Dean couldn’t see what Castiel was doing, but he could  _ feel _ it. Warmth spread out from that point of contact, sparked at each of his wounds. As soon as the warmth left, he felt no more pain. 

Dean’s hands flew up to feel for injuries, but he could find none. The swelling had gone down, the blood had dried, and nothing hurt.

“How—?”

Castiel cut him off as he dropped the knife and fell to his knees before Dean. He looked helpless, blue eyes wide and filled with tears, as he reached out to touch him but held back. “Dean… I… I’m so  _ sorry _ … I-I can’t…” He broke down as tears choked him.

“Castiel,” he breathed. Castiel sounded so broken and lost, as much as Dean had felt without him, and his heart broke for his mate. “Hold me.”

Within seconds he’s in Castiel’s arms, the god holding him tightly and his wings draping around them protectively. He buried his face in Dean’s neck, scenting him deeply. When he spoke, each word was like a caress. 

“My mother, she… she did such terrible things to me… made me hurt you over and over again… It wasn’t you, but it  _ felt _ like it was you… Every day I spent in that cage, every hour, every  _ second _ , I lost more of myself… I… I could have  _ killed _ you. I’m so sorry, Dean. I never wanted to hurt you, you must believe me—”

“I know, Castiel,” Dean whispered. The god shuddered and Dean tensed, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“Say my name again, please,” Castiel begged. “I went so long listening to you call me by another’s name…”

“Castiel.” The god quivered in his embrace. Dean pulled him closer, whispered right in his ear, “I love you, Castiel.”

Castiel whined and buried his nose at Dean’s pulse point, breathing in deeply to scent him. “I love you, Dean. I’m sorry about the part I played in your misery.”

“There’s enough blame to go around. You were only hurt because of me, and that was after I betrayed your trust. All you did before, you did to protect me. All I did to you, I did because I couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolded as he pulled away to look at him. His eyes still had difficulty focusing, and Dean wondered what the hell Naomi did to him. “You were curious, as you had every right to be. I didn’t flee that night because I was upset at you… I fled because I feared you’d realize who I was and which goddess hated you so. That you’d hate  _ me _ by association.”

“So,” Dean said as he carefully ran his hand through Castiel’s hair. “What I’m hearing is that we’re both idiots who didn’t trust the other enough to be truthful with our own fears.”

“It would seem that way, yes.” Castiel smiled wryly at him. “What a pair we make.”

Huffing a laugh, Dean leaned forward to rest his forehead against Castiel’s. “We’ll have to work on that.”

They stayed there, holding each other and breathing in the other’s scent. It did much to calm them, but soon Dean’s knees protested staying on the hard floor and he had to get up. Castiel gently guided him to the bed, which was silly given that  _ he _ was fully healed while Castiel still looked awful.

“It hardly seems fair that your mother gets away with having doing this to you,” Dean lamented as he ran a finger down the nearest of Castiel’s wings. They’d heal with time, of that he had no doubt, yet it pained him to see the once beautiful wings rendered nearly useless.

“... I have an idea.” Castiel seemed sheepish, a strangely adorable look on the god, and explained, “I had a lot of time to think before I lost myself to my mother’s torment. I may have come up with a way to pay her back.”

Dean blinked and then surged forward to kiss his husband. All he’d wanted was his husband and his life back. Now that those were both secure, he was definitely interested in exacting just revenge on the goddess who’d nearly taken it all away from them.

“Tell me all about it.”

\- - - -

“Mother.”

Naomi turned from her loom and smiled at her son. She’d expected him back sooner, but he’d finally returned. She could forgive his tardiness

“Castiel, I’m so glad to see you.” She stepped forward to kiss his cheeks and get a better look at him. His eyes looked a little clearer—he was actually able to focus them and track her movements—and some of the color had returned to his cheeks. It was a huge improvement from how he’d been when locked in the cage. Like night and day, really.

Good. He was already feeling better now that he was freed of Dean’s spell. Another few days and this whole mess would be behind them and everything would be as it should.

“How was your trip to earth? Did you see the omega?” Castiel nodded. She nearly bounced on the edge of her toes in excitement, wanting to hear that Dean had been eliminated once and for all. “And?”

“He’s been taken care of.” There was a slight quirk to his lips, and Naomi was gratified to know her son was as pleased as she was to have the deed done.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said sincerely. “I’ll admit, I was worried about you for a while, but things have turned around.

“I have a gift for you,” he said, handing her a small wooden box. “To thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” She accepted the box despite her protest. “I would do it again if I had to.”

“I know you would.”

Naomi was too intent on opening the box to notice the hint of accusation in her son’s tone. The latch clicked open and she pulled back the top to reveal a heart. It still smelled of fresh blood, so much so that she half expected it to start beating at any moment.

No wonder Castiel had taken so long to return.

“Is this… is it his?” she asked even as she took it out of the box. She held it gingerly; though she might have despised the boy, a human heart was a precious thing, full of magic and power in the right hands. Most certainly in  _ her  _ hands.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Castiel. This is a wondrous gift indeed.” Back and forth she turned it in her hands, marveling at the precise cuts. 

It looked delicious. 

Without waiting another second, she sank her teeth into it. It tasted  _ divine _ . Each bite brought a cool chill running through her veins. It was the magic at work, the magic that would imbue her with Dean’s own beauty and charms and make her even more powerful. What a thoughtful present, one that showed her son’s devotion to her. How could she have ever doubted him?

She smiled at him between bites and reveled in the fact that he was smiling back at her. He watched as she devoured the heart and licked her fingers clean, never looking away and looking more and more pleased. 

Giddiness overcome her. Not only had Castiel done as she’d told him to, he’d given her Dean’s heart. Even she hadn’t thought of that, and now her own beauty would increase to reflect the dead omega’s. A green tint would appear in her eyes, freckles would dot her cheeks, and whatever charm it was that people seemed to think he possessed. Whether she ever saw it or not, it mattered not; it was hers now either way.

“Oh Castiel, I—” She gasped, a strange pain in her chest giving her pause. With some effort, she was able to ignore it until it passed. “Castiel, I cannot say enough how much I-I—”

White hot pain seared through her gut and she doubled over. Something wasn’t right. Something was terribly terribly  _ wrong _ .

“Wh-what’s going on?” She fell to her knees and clutched at her side. 

“I poisoned the heart. Obviously.”

She looked up at him, towering over her. He had the audacity to look  _ smug _ as she writhed in agony. Kneeling down so he could look her in the eye, he handed her a mirror. With a trembling hand, she took it.

The person who stared back at her was unrecognizable. An old hag, aged beyond any mortal she’d ever seen. Wrinkles marred her once perfect face. The skin sagged around her eyes, obscuring her cheekbones and rendering her not just common but  _ ugly _ . 

If she had no beauty, she had no power. She would wither and die. 

“What have you  _ done _ , Castiel?” she screeched, then gasped to hear how grating her voice had become. 

“What needed to be done,” he said as he stood back up. “What was  _ right _ . Justice for all the people you’ve wronged and that I  _ let _ you wrong. It took a lot of work. I had to find someone whose heart was so blackened with hate that there was nothing good in them at all. Luckily I’d already found such a monster when I was out doing your dirty work. I’m glad to see I picked wisely when I chose Alastair… His heart was as vile as the man himself, I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

Naomi clenched her fists in anger. Son or not, she would make Castiel pay for this.

“That wasn’t enough, though. I had to use spellwork beyond my own abilities… Luckily there were other gods and goddess willing to lend me their help if it meant getting rid of  _ you _ .”

The nerve of Castiel! After everything she’d done for him! She’d  _ freed _ him of Dean. The omega’s death must have jolted Castiel out of his reprogramming, and now he was lashing out like a child. 

“This isn’t the way to show your displeasure at your dead whore—”

Castiel’s wings flared open and he glared at her with such anger she flinched. “Don’t talk about Dean that way,” he warned in an even tone. “I won’t say it again.”

She grit her teeth. “This is a mistake, Castiel. You can’t do this! I’m  _ mortal _ now! Heaven, Earth, Hell… they  _ rely _ on me! When I die, the world will wilt away! A world without beauty cannot live. You’ve doomed us all!”

“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps that might have been true… if we hadn’t already found a replacement for you.”

“A replacement?” she scoffed. “Who could  _ possibly _ replace me as Goddess of Beauty?”

“I’m glad you asked.” He smiled as he turned to the door. 

Curious, she followed his gaze. 

“No,” she whispered. It couldn’t be.

There stood Dean, looking as radiant as the sun. Even she couldn’t deny that he possessed an unearthly beauty, one that she’d never been able to see before.

It was almost divine.

Oh no.

“There were a number of gods willing to contribute a piece of their grace to Dean.” Castiel looked at Dean reverently and Naomi knew. She knew there was nothing she could do to break them apart. There never  _ was _ anything she could do. “We’ve imbued him with enough power that, now that your own godhood is diminishing, he’ll be able to take over for you as the new God of Beauty.”

The part of herself that believed in self-preservation insisted she bend her knees and bow before him.

Stubbornness and fury kept her upright.

“Hello, Naomi.” Thunder cackled as he spoke her name. “Long time no see.”

“Dean of Winchester,” she hissed. “I see you’ve taken more of what is not yours.”

Castiel tsked as he took out a knife. “You shouldn’t speak so ill to someone who holds your life in his hands.” 

Dean accepted the knife from Castiel, the very one she’d given Castiel to kill him, and stepped forward. He put the blade to her throat. 

“I could kill you very easily right now,” he said. “They expect it.”

“I daresay they do,” she spat. Who among the gods had helped Castiel? Likely a fair number, considering how she’d treated them all with contempt at some point or another. They’d only put up with her this long for the same reason she put up with them: because they  _ had _ to. Now that Dean was a viable option…

“So hopefully you’ll remember this moment for the rest of your life, and know how much you owe me.” He pulled the blade away without a trace of blood on it. “You are banished to earth to live out the rest of your days, however many that might be, surrounded in squalor and disgrace. Whatever living you manage to eek out, you’ll always remember the life you left behind here in Heaven. And know that you have what you have because of me… and lost what you lost because of  _ you _ .”

And then he walked away.

“No…  _ no _ !” She yelled as she struggled to her feet. Her bones creaked and protested every movement. All she could manage was a slow hobble as she followed. “You cannot leave me like this! I was a  _ Goddess _ ! I deserve so much more than to die among peasants—”

“You deserve far worse than what you’re getting,” Castiel interrupted. “Though it does seem fitting that the last of your days will be spent hearing about how the Goddess of Beauty has mysteriously vanished and a new, kinder, more beautiful God is taking her place.” 

He gave a faint smile then made to follow his mate. “Balthazar will stop by to fetch you later. He’ll find a suitable place for you. Since he helped me and Dean and hates you so, I feel like it’s a suitable reward.”

And then he too walked out of her chambers.

“Castiel! Stop! Come back! I’m your mother! Castiel!  _ Castiel! _ ”

Not once did he turn back. This part of his life was behind him. His future, a happy one with Dean and their children, was before him. And he would  _ never _ look back.

 

**Epilogue**

Life passed in a flurry of activity after that. There were other gods and goddesses to meet and properly introduce himself to, temples to Naomi to reconsecrate in his honor, and statues of her to be torn down and replaced. Never mind the time Dean spent learning to control his new abilities. Everywhere he walked, flowers bloomed. Everything he laid eyes on became newer. Everyone he touched looked years younger, their blemishes diminished, and their eyes shone brighter. 

“You have too good a heart,” Castiel teased. “My mother hoarded her power over beauty. You seem unable to hold it in even if you’re trying.”

Dean made a face. “Can we talk less about your mother and hearts? I feel queasy enough from the morning sickness.”

“Apologies.” Castiel stepped forward to lay a hand on his belly and nip at his lips. “You’ll hear not another word from on the subject ever again.”

It was just the beginning, but Dean and Castiel worked together to make love matches. They helped people see the beauty in each other and love each other selflessly. It brought Dean joy to know he could spread happiness.

Things gradually settled, and Dean grew restless. After everything, Dean wanted a bit of  _ normal _ in his life. Especially since his life would never be normal ever again. 

He returned to Winchester with his husband. Kate, Sam, and Adam were both relieved to know Dean was safe and embarrassed that they’d thought such terrible things about Castiel. Castiel was of course exceedingly gracious about it. 

Although they technically had work to do as gods, they stayed for nearly a whole season in Winchester. First it was Dean’s formal abdication and Sam’s coronation. Then it was Dean and Castiel’s small but lovely formal wedding ceremony. And then, on their wedding night, as they made love for hours in Dean’s old room, they finally mated under the starlight.

It was perfect. 

And lastly, they stayed long enough for the pups to be born. Castiel hardly left Dean’s side as his belly grew heavy. Balthazar pitched in carrying out some of Castiel’s work for him (“Just this  _ once _ , alright? I’ve got terrible aim with a bow and the God of Love look just really doesn’t work for me.”) and Dean  _ occasionally _ convinced his mate to be responsible.

But only occasionally.

Two pups were born, both as lovely as their parents. As beautiful and kind as their omega, as strong and loving as their alpha, they promised to be strong additions to the pantheon. 

They moved back to the mountain top villa after that. They had to add a nursery and rooms for the pups when they got older, but it was easily done. Heaven didn’t feel like home to Dean, and after everything with Naomi, it didn’t feel like it for Castiel either. 

Often they visited the kingdom of Winchester, especially once Sam married and had a few cousins for them to play with. Dean’s heart swelled to see his children flying around the palace gardens as they chased after Sam’s children, all blessed with extra beauty by Dean and with loving hearts by Castiel. Dean savored every moment.

He wondered what powers his children would possess when they were fully grown, but they had years before they’d find out. Instead of worrying about the specifics, he brought them up to be good people who would do right by the mortals that sought their help. When they were older, he’d use their grandmother’s example as a warning of how  _ not _ to behave. 

Later. For now they deserved the chance to grow up without knowing the terrible things that had been done to their parents out of jealousy and bitterness.

They never spoke of Naomi, nor sought her out. They knew Balthazar kept an eye on her, and his continued happiness at her misery was enough for them. Eventually there’d come a day when Balthazar told them she’d passed away. Dean was selfish enough to hope that day was far away, only because he expected her days on earth as a mortal were harder for her to bear than any torment Hell could concoct.

Dean could barely remember what he expected to find at the top of the mountain—certainly not a mate, godhood, and two children he adored—and he thanked the Fates every day for sending him on his way. The journey was rough and painful, but the destination made it all worthwhile.

* * *

 

**Bonus Scene 1: An Actual Excerpt From My Notes**

n: you can’t do this! i’m  _ mortal _ now! heaven, earth, hell, they  _ rely _ on me! when i die, the world will wilt away!

c: perhaps that might have been true… but we’ve found a replacement.

n: *scoffs* who could  _ possibly _ replace me as goddess of beauty?

d: 

n: oh fuck

 

**Bonus Scene 2: The Twins**

**Dean, looking very pale:** Cas?

**Castiel:** Yes, Dean?

**Dean:** Have you uh… have you been in Emma’s room lately?

**Castiel:** No…?

**Dean:** How ‘bout Henry’s?

**Castiel:** …. Dean, what’s this about?

**Dean, in an oddly high pitched voice:** I just think maybe the kids are figuring out what their powers are and it’s freaking me out a bit.

**Castiel:** …… How bad could it be?

**Dean:** Well, Emma’s room is filled with daggers and swords and this list that’s just labeled “to kill” along with a list of crimes each person’s committed.

**Castiel:** … Well, I suppose Heaven has been without a Goddess of Vengeance for some time. Given the circumstances preceding the twins birth, it would make sense.

**Dean, fidgeting:** Okay yeah that’s not… that’s not so bad…

**Castiel:** …. And Henry’s room?

**Dean, blushing bright red:** It’s uh… it’s filled with uhm…  _ tools _ .

**Castiel:** Tools? *pauses* … You only blush like that and say tools when you mean sex toys—

**Dean:** TOOLS.

**Castiel:** …. Well given he’s the son of the Gods of Love and Beauty, it wouldn’t be totally unexpected if he were the God of Pleasure— Dean!? Are you okay?

**Dean, trying not to faint:** Fine. I’m fine. Absolutely fine. Please wake me up when the twins are out of puberty. …. Does this seriously not freak you out?

**Castiel:** They’re gods. They were bound to develop random and bizarrely specific powers. This isn’t even that bad. I have a cousin who’s Goddess of Dung Beetles. She just… collects dung beetles. All the time.

**Dean:** … Okay that’s super weird, but still! What am I supposed to tell my  _ family _ ?

**Castiel:** If you want, I could do it for you—

**Dean, already leaving the room so Cas can’t take it back:** Oh man what a good idea. Thanks babe.

**Castiel:** … I walked right into that one.


End file.
